09/11/2026
September 11, 2001 is a day I’ll never forget.
This is a picture of my uncle’s pizza shop in New York, where I was working on 95th Street and 3rd Avenue when the attacks happened. When the towers came down, my uncle wouldn’t close the doors.
We stayed open.
We made food for whoever needed it. We sold everything we had. The food, the drinks, even down to the last bottle of water.
Before that day, New York was always loud. Cars, people, horns, sirens. It never really stopped.
Then all of a sudden, it was quiet.
I remember getting on my bicycle and riding through the same streets where I had made so many pizza deliveries. Only this time, there was almost nobody there.
I could hear my bicycle tires on the pavement.
I’ll never forget that sound and the eerie feeling it gave me.
About a year later, I left New York and moved to Pennsylvania. My family had leased a building in Brogue, and my brother-in-law Joe told me, “You might like it here.”
I had grown up in Sicily around farmland, and when I got to Brogue, something about it felt familiar. It reminded me of home.
I never knew then how much that move would change my life. My family, Roma’s, my friends, and so many people here who have become like family.
Twenty-five years later, I still think about September 11.
I remember the streets. I remember the silence. And I remember the people who never made it home.
Today, I just want to remember them.
The innocent people who lost their lives. The families who lost someone they loved. The firefighters, police officers, and everyone who ran toward the danger.
For a little while, everyone came together.
That’s what I remember, too.
September 11, 2001. We will never forget 🇺🇸
