I’m having a hard time writing a post today, because this day always hits me pretty hard. Although it’s been twelve years, I still have to take a few deep breaths before I can talk about it. Recently, Bird asked me a question about the World Trade Center, and I couldn’t speak at all. Tears just flowed down my face, and I shook my head. Luckily Josh was there, and he stepped in.

I don’t have a special story to tell. I wasn’t in Manhattan. I didn’t lose a loved one. But my throat clenches every time I think about it, and my eyes start to sting with tears.

I didn’t stay home from work that day, twelve years ago. I was a fifth grade teacher at an underprivileged school. I knew that many of my students’ parents worked two, or even three jobs, and that school was a stable, safe place for their kids. I knew they were counting on that. They were counting on me. So I went to work.

I didn’t know all of the details that morning. I didn’t know how much the kids knew. I hadn’t had any training on what to say or what to do. So I just did the best I could. I kept things normal for those kids. It was hard. I was scared, but I tried not to let it show.

Hours later, I drove along the empty highway and the deserted streets to a friend’s house, where Josh and a few others had been watching the news all day. They were all still stunned and sad, but they had reached a place of grim acceptance. I was still filled with an overwhelming sense of disbelief.

I’m still there, I think. I never left. So on this day, I’ll take a moment to remember, but I will also take a moment to believe. I believe in myself. I believe in my community. And I believe in the power within all of us to come together and do the right thing.

I believe.

And I remember.

Rest in peace.


  1. My sister worked in Manhattan and stood at her office window and watched the second tower go down. Then she joined the grim, silent march north of the people on the island as the subways had been stopped.

    We’ll never forget.

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