Remembering 9/11: 25 Years Later, It Still Feels Like Yesterday

“Lisa, turn on the TV and tell me what’s happening. A plane flew into the Tower,” my dad said. He was calling from his office in New York City, near Union Square. It was a beautiful day. The sky was the softest blue.

I was in New Jersey with my mom, getting ready to go to the lawyer’s office.  My father was dying of cancer and that was the day my mother was going to write their will.

My hair was dripping wet from the shower, and as I towel dried it, I turned on the TV in my parents bedroom. Bryant Gumbel was on the Today Show and I remember he and the other hosts were trying to figure out what had happened. Was it a small plane that accidentally crashed? I watched on live TV as a second plane crashed into the other tower.

“Dad, get out of there. We’re under attack. Get out of the city.”

This was 2001. Most people didn’t yet own cell phones, and if they did the service wasn’t good. The regular phone lines stopped connecting. Was everyone calling at once and the system couldn’t handle it? Was this part of the attack too?

Another plane hit the Pentagon and that really terrified me. If our own military headquarters could be attacked, how vulnerable were we as a country?

I frantically called everyone – my actor friends, my ex-boyfriend, my college roommate. “Are you ok? Are you safe?”

“My friend is a waiter at the restaurant at the top of the tower.”

My friend Jenny said our friend from high school worked at the Pentagon, but she was ok. Jen’s husband was an engineer.

“The towers are going to collapse.”

Flames poured from the buildings and thick plumes of smoke. My mom and I stared at the TV and watched in horror as the towers collapsed and fell.

Everything changed.  My friend’s cousin died.  She was on the 101st floor of Tower 2.  It was one week before her wedding day.

Later, there were people walking through the streets, covered in white ash, looking like zombies in their suits. Many were barefoot. They literally ran out of their shoes to escape with their lives.

My boyfriend (now husband) Henri called from California, making sure we were ok. He tried to calm our jittery nerves.

The subway shut down; my father couldn’t get home.  He bought Snickers bars from the bodega, not sure how long he’d be there. Everyone had left to find their families, but he lived in New Jersey. My brother was able to reach him using email. My friends said he could stay with them. But then they allowed the trains to leave the city and go back to New Jersey.

The plane from Los Angeles to Newark was the same plane I rode a week earlier.  It was the same plane I was supposed to fly home on.  A new fear gripped me.  Cancer was horrible, but at least I understood it.  Terrorism I did not.

A few days later we drove my father to Brooklyn to see his doctor.  The plumes of gray smoke clung to the sky and a burning smell was in the air.  We held our breath going into the tunnel.  I met my friend, Liz, later in the week.  There were posters everywhere.

Have you seen my mother?

Have you seen my husband, Miguel?

Missing:  Age 25, blonde hair, blue eyes.

Soldiers with rifles walked the streets.  I was terrified, as the sick terrorists who carried out the plot had hoped.  They want to disrupt life.  They want to wreak havoc.

Then there was the anthrax.  We didn’t get mail for two weeks because the mail post office had been contaminated and two people died.  When we did get the mail it was wrapped in a plastic bag.  We decided to just throw the bag away in the trash outside and call the companies directly to pay the bills.

When it was time to go home I did not want to fly on the plane.  My mother said I had to or the terrorists would win.  Easy for her to say, I was the one getting on the plane. My dad said we could rent a car. Henri said this would be the safest plane ride I ever took.

Ultimately, I got on the plane, because f*** the terrorists.  The flight was almost empty.  A soldier rode with us.  I looked at every passenger with distrust.  When we landed in LA everyone started clapping and tears rolled down our faces.

Today marks the 25th anniversary. My son is 17 and in JROTC. I asked what they taught him in school. He mentioned the basics. I shared my memories, my eyes welling as I spoke. It happened 25 years ago; it felt like yesterday. It feels like we’re getting trapped in another forever war.

Like most people just trying to live their lives, I wish for peace.

– Lisa

 

Copyright (c) Lisa A. Traugott 2026. All rights reserved.