911 Stories

Approximately four million babies are born in the United States every year. That means that twenty million babies have been born since September 11, 2001. They have no recollection of that day. They only have the videos, pictures, books, articles, and our stories. And right now none of those things mean a lot to them, but it is our responsibility to make sure that as they grow older, they understand what happened that day.

2,996 people—including husbands, wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, nephews, nieces, cousins, co-workers, friends, firefighters, and police officers—died that day at the hands of Islamic terrorists. And all of the people who loved them experienced the anguish that death brings. Seeing all of those people hanging flyers and desperately searching for loved ones was heart-wrenching. But America responded, as she often does, and strangers began helping strangers. And all over America, the things that divided us, seemed to fade into oblivion—at least for a while.

Everybody has a story to tell about that day. Whatever your story is, tell it. Again and again.

I’ve already shared my own experience. Here it is again:

Like everybody else, I can remember exactly what I was doing on September 11, 2001 the moment I heard that the first plane hit the World Trade Center. I was working at a bank, sitting in my cubicle, going through my normal routine. A woman I worked with was listening to the radio and she told me what happened. I was suspicious after she told me about the first plane, but after I heard that the second plane hit, I knew we were under attack. Then came news of another highjacked plane, and then another.

I live in Omaha, Nebraska—the same city in which President Bush flew into that day to meet with administration officials and military advisors. As the day progressed, my co-workers witnessed something in me that they hadn’t seen before—extreme anger. I was angry at the media for telling the entire world where President Bush was located throughout the day and I was livid at the unknown enemy who attacked us.

I rushed home to see the video and to hear the stories on television. Buildings collapsing, people dying, heroes being heroes, and terrorists being terrorists. And before the night was over, I spoke to my family. And in the midst of such chaos, just hearing their voices was nice.

If you get a chance today, check out a blog called 2,996. On it, you’ll find links to posts that bloggers wrote to honor each person who died that day.

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