Never forget

Photo credit: Dan Pascal 

9/11/01:

As I left for school, the news was broadcasting about a plane hitting the World Trade Center. How odd, I thought. By the time I got to school, the second plane had hit the other tower. Shit just got real. Confusion and curiosity flooded my thoughts: how could this have happened? Why? Who would have done this? Being in school, I was unaware of the tragedy taking place at the time, the thousands of lives lost. 

I was called down to the school office in the middle of the day, a phone call from my mom, saying my brother was safe, our bishop had spoken with his mission president and all missionaries were safe and accounted for. 

It wasn't until that phone call, that I realized how serious the events from the morning were. I was saddened and worried for New York City. 

The images from the news that afternoon after school, will forever be seered in my brain: people jumping from the falling buildings. Firefighters covered overwhelmingly in debris. The blood. The fear in eyes. 

All missionaries in New York City were allowed to call home that night. I will never forget hearing the devastation and desperation in my brothers voice. 

I don't know the number of people that died that day or the exact times the towers were hit and when they fell. I don't remember many details of the other two hijacked planes. 

But I will never forget the confusion, the compassion, sympathy, fear and devastation I felt in my heart for New York  City and our nation on 9/11/01. 

I'm so grateful for the brave firefighters, police officers, and military that served that day and serve today. They are selfless and courageous. My brother has been a firefighter since his mission. 

Each anniversary of that awful day, I am struck with the emotions I felt that day, but I stand proud and patriotic and thankful for those that serve our great nation. I love you brother, you're a hero!