Never Forget: September 11th Then and Now

It was September 11, 2001, and I was driving to work in Palm Beach. Sunny 107.9 WEAT was on the radio, though I don’t remember the song. It was a beautiful late-summer day—humid already, the air filled with the smell of fresh-cut grass, flowers, and just a hint of salt from the ocean.

The DJs broke in suddenly. A plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. At first, they thought it was a commuter jet or even a small private plane, a terrible accident. They spoke with shock, worrying about the smoke and the people trapped inside.

Just as I pulled into my parents’ house—where I worked at the time—the second plane hit. And that was the moment we knew. This wasn’t an accident. This was deliberate. This was an attack.

I ran inside, turned on the TV, and stood frozen. My stepdad came out, startled by the noise, and before he could speak, I told him: “Two planes just hit the towers.” We both stared at the screen, unable to look away. My mom burst out of her room, scolding us for watching a movie so loud, so early. Her face fell when she realized it wasn’t a movie. Just as the words left my mouth, the first tower fell.

The rest of the day was a blur. My (now ex) husband was sent home from his job at the science museum. We spent the day huddled around the television, watching the unthinkable unfold. We tried to reach family in the tri-state area and New England but couldn’t—the phone lines were jammed. We didn’t talk to our neighbors that day, but we did the next day, and in the weeks to follow.

I remember the stories of first responders from across the country traveling to New York to help in the recovery. I remember the way people treated each other in those first weeks—kinder, gentler, more understanding. And for the first and only time I can remember, our country was united.

Now, 24 years later, I think about what we lost—not just the towers, not just the thousands of lives, but the unity we felt in the days after. We fought a war that spanned decades and administrations, and it ended with no real resolution. For me, there is sadness. There is guilt, too—people I served with went, and I did not.

I also wonder about the younger generations, the ones who were babies then or born since. How could they possibly understand? There is no frame of reference. I want them to know that people died for the freedoms they enjoy—not just the military, not just first responders, not just those who volunteered. Everyday people, living their ordinary lives, paid the price. A plane full of strangers willingly gave their lives to stop another symbol of America from being struck. They believed our country was worth sacrificing for.

And then I’m brought back to yesterday. Charlie Kirk was shot. A husband and father of two. In front of his family. In front of a college full of children he was speaking with. And there are those who say his death is good. That is horror. That is extremism.

We need to remember. We need to never forget—not just the tragedy of 2001, but the unity that came after. We are one nation. Extremism from either direction has no place here.

Because we have already seen where it leads.