We all have stories. Where we were. Who we were with. How we found out that our world was changed forever.  Shattered. Today, on the 11th anniversary of that fateful day, I spoke to my kids about the selflessness of our firefighters and police officers. The people who run into a burning building when everyone else is running out. The heroes that day and every day. We visited our local firehouse, brought them cookies, a note of thanks, and as a nice perk got a great tour of the station and the trucks. I look forward to this new tradition, wish I thought of it 10 years ago, but am super proud of my kids for the thanks they showed today.

I had been working at a new job for about six weeks at that point, and while I didn’t know my colleagues well, we were about to be linked together in an unimaginable way. I was in the office early, around 8:15 am, already busy at work. 

At 9:59 we watched in horror as the South tower crumbled. There was a collective shriek, tears, and grief. I remember where I was in that conference room, who I sat next to, and the horrible feeling in my stomach. My cell phone still worked for a few minutes, my family knew I was OK, and my husband told me he was sending his best friend to pick me up, so we’d at least be together. But at this point we still had no idea what was happening, that we were under attack. I remember not wanting to leave work though, this deadline still in my sights, wanting to finish my project. Denial maybe.

We left the building with one plan – do what we need to do to get back home to New Jersey. We hit Broadway, looked downtown and saw the smoke. All of New York it seemed had left their offices and took to the streets. Cell lines were down, the lines at pay phones were 20 people long, sporting goods stores were emptied as people bought sneakers to walk home in. We were evacuated from a park we cut across, due to a suspicious package, which was the first time I remember panicking. We were joined on the streets by survivors, black smoke and soot on their faces, their clothes.

After walking about 120 blocks and catching a ride over the George Washington Bridge, we stood at the base of the bridge and looked out over the river. Smoke billowed in the air where the towers should have stood. The landscape had literally been changed forever. We finally made it home late that evening. We were the lucky ones. I soon learned that a friend was missing, his wife watched the horror from a bus as she entered the Lincoln Tunnel and looked downtown. I didn’t sleep at minute that night, though my body was exhausted.

I returned to work on September 13 and will never forget that morning. Afraid to take the subway I walked across town and was connected with every other person on the street. At 6th Avenue I waited to cross the street as two firetrucks passed, each waving American flags. Every person on the street stopped, clapped, and cried. A transplant to New York, on that day I became a New Yorker.