09/11/2026
September 11th will always be a day that is very close to my heart. 🇺🇸
I will never forget where I was or how that day unfolded.
I was in 9th grade. I remember hearing people talking in the hallways that a plane had crashed into a building in New York City. At first, nobody really understood what was happening. We thought it was a terrible accident.
Then the reports started coming in.
My teacher turned on the TV, and suddenly we were watching something that none of us could comprehend.
I’ll never forget looking outside and seeing parents pulling up one after another to pick up their children. Kids were leaving school and everyone was heading home to their families because nobody knew what was happening or what was coming next.
Being from Long Island, New York City wasn’t some faraway place we were watching on television. It was our backyard. So many of our family members, friends, neighbors and people we knew worked in the city or lived there.
My first thought was my father.
My dad worked for NYC Transit, and all I could think was, Where is he? Is he okay? What is going on?
Because of his role, he was a first responder in situations like this. While everyone else was desperately trying to get out of the city and get home to their families, my father had to stay behind and help.
I remember it being a windy day. I went down to the beach on Long Island and looked toward New York City. From almost an hour away, I could see the smoke.
That image will never leave my mind.
Ash and office papers from the city were carried by the wind and actually made their way into towns on Long Island. It was impossible to understand the magnitude of what had happened.
Then it became even more personal.
As the day went on, we received word that my cousin Jude was missing.
Jude was only in his early 20s. He had just gotten a job at Cantor Fitzgerald with some of his best friends. Our entire family was devastated, holding onto hope and waiting for the phone call telling us that Jude was okay and coming home.
That call never came.
Days passed without hearing from him.
My mother and other members of our family went down toward Ground Zero with flyers and posters, searching for Jude and looking for any information they could find.
Days turned into weeks.
Eventually, we learned what we had been praying we would never have to hear.
Jude didn’t make it home.
Twenty-five years later, you would think a memory like this would get easier with time. For me, it doesn’t.
I can still remember the hallways at school. The television being turned on. The parents pulling up. Wondering where my father was. Standing on that beach and seeing the smoke. And waiting and praying for Jude to come home.
It feels like yesterday.
September 11th isn’t just a date in a history book for so many families. There are thousands of stories just like ours—families who lost sons, daughters, husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, cousins, friends, firefighters, police officers and first responders.
Today, I remember Jude.
I remember everyone who never made it home.
I remember the first responders who ran toward danger while everyone else was trying to get away.
And I remember how, during one of the darkest moments in our country’s history, Americans came together and took care of one another.
25 years later, we still remember.
September 11, 2001. Never Forget. 🇺🇸
In loving memory of my cousin Jude and all those we lost that day.
