It was a beautiful early fall day.

Back then, streaming news was nearly unheard of, but in 2001 I was able to log on to MSNBC.com and listen to morning news. It was spotty “reception” at best and I always wondered if IT would someday tell me to knock it off, but for now it kept me up to date.

Hearing reports that a small plane had somehow veered off course and crashed into one of the Twin Towers was startling. The first reports were pretty standard.

The second reports, though, of the second plane crash, changed the world forever.

Moments later, I lost connection with the audio from network news. Websites were slow to update. Shock began to sink in – something horrible was happening. It was 9/11.

Presumably safe in the Midwest, I didn’t even think to pull my children out of school. My mother soon called from Connecticut to assure me younger brother, Bill, his wife, and baby girl were safe. They lived just outside of New York City.

I didn’t realize that Bill, a personal trainer, had once been offered a job in the Twin Towers. The offer was for a level of management, though, that he eschewed (which reminds me of our maternal grandfather, who stayed “cop on the beat” throughout his career in New Haven, despite other offers). Bill’s desire to remain a hands-on trainer may have saved his life.

News reports throughout the first hours of 9/11 were spotty at best. It was impossible to know if the internet was still too young to handle the heavy traffic or if something more nefarious was going on.

I went to church.

A few moments of cool and quiet helped calm my thoughts. Prayers for the victims, untold thousands. And for the family who owned the business where I’d worked for a decade: Will’s dad was close to passing, at age 86. Will’s wife, Lori, was also dealing with health concerns for her father. Their children would lose three beloved grandparents in just four months time. So much sadness.

Back at work, I lingered outside, staring at the sky. The president had ordered all air traffic halted. The strikingly blue sky was void of the usual vapor trails.

The ensuing days, weeks, and months told of a terrible hatred. Them for us. Us for them. I honestly don’t know if anything’s gotten better over the past two decades.

Back in 2001, the president called for a moment of silence across the nation on the Saturday following 9/11. There was a park “buy out” scheduled for a local business and we scrambled to find a suitable way to silence a theme park. To be respectful, but not scare children who were just as confused as we adults.

Since I suggested it, I was tasked with writing a brief script to be carried on the park’s P.A. system. The remainder of the “moment” was eerily filled with a lone bell slowly ringing. The bell was part of a roller coaster’s themed station in the park. Tears welled up in my eyes as I pulled the rope, careful to keep each peal singular.

That bell came from a steamboat that traveled the Ohio River during the 1800s.

What to do following such a horrific piece of our nation’s history? We hugged our children – and each other – even tighter and more often than before. Gary added an American flag in front of our home (and a second time, when a wild storm toppled the first flag pole). We continue to personally thank members of the Armed Forces. A handshake in an airport is never time wasted.

Remembering 9/11 goes without saying for those who lived through it. But for the younger among us, the stories must be told. In addition to the horror and the hate, we must remember the bravery, the selflessness, the love.

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