September 11, 2001: 25 Years Later, I Still Remember Ground Zero

Twenty-five years ago, I made a decision that would forever change my life.

Following the attacks of September 11, 2001, I felt a burning desire to do something. I could not simply watch what was happening from a television screen. I wanted to help. I needed to help.

I had the honor of leading 41 dedicated police officers to New York City. We left our homes and our families behind, not knowing exactly what we would face when we arrived. We weren't going for recognition or praise. We went because thousands of people we had never met needed help, and because our fellow first responders needed us.

As we approached New York, seeing that skyline without the Twin Towers was heartbreaking. But nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared us for Ground Zero.

Nothing Could Prepare Us for Ground Zero

Television could not capture it. The smell hit you first. The smell of death, fire, smoke, fumes and dust. Broken glass was everywhere. Destroyed fire apparatus sat among mountains of debris, and massive pieces of twisted steel rose from the wreckage in ways no television camera could truly convey.

Heavy machinery was working around us, people were digging everywhere, and New York City, the city of bright lights that never seemed to stop, felt eerily silent.

Everywhere we looked, there were firefighters, police officers, construction workers and volunteers digging hour after hour. They were looking for someone. A stranger. A friend. A brother or sister. Someone's mother, father, son, daughter, grandmother, grandfather, aunt or uncle. Anyone who might still be alive.

We joined the bucket brigades. Because of my smaller size, I was able to enter some of the crevices in the debris and search areas that were difficult to reach. We used flashlights and crawled through the wreckage, using our hands to guide us.

We desperately wanted to find someone alive.

We found people, but tragically, they were deceased. Sometimes what we recovered were only human remains. Those are things you never forget.

But we kept working. The days were long. The nights were long. Exhaustion didn't matter. Rank didn't matter. Titles didn't matter. Where you came from didn't matter.

We were one.

Nine Stitches, Then Two More

During one of our searches near the Globe, a piece of rebar swung back and struck me directly in the face, breaking my nose and causing a significant laceration. I was taken to an ambulance that was preparing to transport me to a local hospital, but I didn't want to go. I didn't want to leave my brothers and sisters. There was still work to be done.

They told me about a MASH-style mobile surgical unit staffed by volunteer physicians who had traveled from around the country to help. I went inside, and the physician who treated me had come all the way from Tampa, Florida. He told me he couldn't repair the fracture there, but he could stitch the wound.

Then he did something I have never forgotten.

He placed nine stitches, paused, and then placed two additional stitches to represent September 11th and the Twin Towers.

My nose was numb. My face was injured.

And I went back to work.

At Ground Zero, my injury seemed insignificant compared with what surrounded us. There were thousands of families somewhere waiting for a telephone call that would never come, and that reality was everywhere.

“I Love You Daddy”

Among the destruction, we found ordinary things. Clothing. Stuffed animals from the Marriott Hotel next to the towers. Personal belongings. Pieces of people's everyday lives.

Scattered among the debris were sticky notes that had once been attached to desks and office walls high above Manhattan.

I found one that simply said: “I love you Daddy.”

Twenty-five years later, I still remember that note.

Because suddenly, it wasn't debris. It belonged to somebody. Somebody's father. Somebody's husband. Somebody's wife. Somebody's son or daughter.

Every item we picked up had once meant something to someone. Somewhere, a family was desperately waiting for news. We carried that knowledge with us every minute we worked.

I will also never forget the extraordinary men and women who served alongside me. We had husbands and wives who volunteered together. We had supervisors working beside officers. We had people from different backgrounds and different places, but rank meant absolutely nothing there.

There were no egos. There was only the mission.

For those days and weeks, we were simply Americans helping Americans.

Eventually, the day came when we had to leave. None of us wanted to. Leaving the friends, colleagues, firefighters, police officers, construction workers and volunteers we had come to know was incredibly difficult. But as painful as it was to leave, I knew we had done what we came there to do.

We answered the call.

The Cost We Did Not Understand

There was something else none of us understood at the time.

We never thought about what Ground Zero might someday do to us. We didn't think about what we were breathing. We didn't think about the smoke, chemicals, microscopic particles or toxic dust entering our lungs and covering our skin. We didn't stop and ask whether this might hurt us 5, 10, 15, 20 or now 25 years later.

We simply worked.

That is what first responders do.

Then the years passed, and the illnesses began. Breathing problems. Skin issues. Cancer. Disease.

Men and women who survived Ground Zero began dying because of what they had been exposed to while trying to help others. We have lost far too many extraordinary people, and 25 years later, we are still losing them.

That is why September 11th must never become just another date on a calendar.

We do not celebrate September 11th. We commemorate it. We honor it. We remember it.

We Remember

We remember the innocent people who went to work that beautiful September morning and never came home. We remember the passengers and crews aboard those aircraft. We remember the firefighters who climbed those stairs while everyone else was trying to get down.

We remember the police officers, EMTs, paramedics, Port Authority officers, military personnel, construction workers, security officers, volunteers and countless others who ran toward devastation when every human instinct told them to run away.

We remember the families who waited. We remember those who survived. And we remember the first responders who survived that day only to lose their lives years later because they answered the call.

September 11th showed us the unimaginable destruction that hatred can create, but it also showed us something far more powerful. It showed us what love, courage, sacrifice and unity can accomplish.

For a period of time after those attacks, we weren't Republicans or Democrats. We weren't separated by race, religion, profession, neighborhood or economic status.

We were Americans.

We hugged strangers. We thanked police officers and firefighters. We flew our flag high and proudly. We looked after our neighbors. We remembered that we belonged to one another.

Twenty-five years later, perhaps that is one of the most important lessons September 11th can still teach us.

Hate destroys. Love endures. And love ultimately prevails.

Twenty-Five Years Later, We Must Never Forget

When you see a first responder, remember that behind that uniform is a human being who made a conscious decision to enter a profession where, on someone else's worst day, they may be asked to put that stranger's life before their own.

I witnessed that kind of courage at Ground Zero. I worked beside it. I was humbled by it. And I will carry those men and women, and those we could not bring home, with me for the rest of my life.

To the 41 incredible police officers who answered that call and traveled with me, I will forever be proud to have stood beside you.

To the brothers and sisters we have lost in the 25 years since, you are not forgotten.

To every family who lost someone on September 11, 2001, we remember them.

And to every first responder who continues to answer the call every single day, thank you.

Twenty-five years have passed. The skyline changed. Our lives changed. America changed.

But we must never forget.

May God bless our first responders. May God bless every innocent soul we lost. May God bless the families who continue to carry their memory. And may God continue to bless the United States of America.

September 11, 2001. Never Forgotten.