10/11/2025
“The Only Part of 9/11 That Ever Made Me Cry”
I’m not even sure why I’m writing this — maybe it doesn’t matter — but I just feel like I need to share.
I was only two years old on 9/11. I have faint, blurry flashes of memory, but no real understanding of what that day meant. As I grew up, every school I attended tried to make us understand the enormity of it — with documentaries, survivor interviews, and photos that were probably too heavy for kids our age. But no matter how much I saw or studied, it always felt distant, impossible to truly grasp.
For years, I felt guilty for not reacting the “right” way. I didn’t cry. I didn’t break down. I didn’t feel the horror the way others did. I thought something was wrong with me — that maybe I was missing some vital piece of empathy. So I kept digging into that day — the stories, the footage, the names — searching for the moment that would finally make me feel what everyone else seemed to feel.
Then one day, I watched an interview with Chief Joseph Pfeifer, the first FDNY chief to arrive at the scene. He talked about hearing the jumpers hit the ground. In that moment of desperation, he grabbed a PA system and pleaded for people to hold on, promising that help was on the way — not realizing that those trapped above could no longer be reached.
The pain in his voice, the weight of that impossible hope — that’s what finally broke me. That’s when I cried.
And strangely, in that grief, I also felt relief. Because for the first time, I understood — not the events, but the human part of it. The love, the loss, the helplessness, the bravery.
I’m not glad that something so devastating happened. But I am grateful that I finally allowed myself to feel it — not as history, but as humanity.
