I think that when all of us die, we’d like to be remembered for the good things we accomplished in life. We want people to fondly recall memories that include us. We want our loved ones to think of us, but we also want them to carry on with their lives without forgetting us. When our names are spoken, I think we’d all like for a smile to cross someone’s face, even if only briefly.

Each year, on September 11, I take a few moments to listen to the names. 2,977 names. Each one someone’s son or daughter, sister or brother, mother or father, or husband or wife. Each name with a story, a lifetime of accomplishments, heartaches, struggles, laughs and successes to tell. Every year, when I listen to the names, I can’t help but wonder who the person was behind the name. What did they look like? What made them unique? What difference did they make in the world? Who was their family and where did they come from? Their stories, I am sure, live on through their loved ones.

That fateful day back in 2001, I was in my freshman year of college in Maryville. I remember hearing a lot of commotion outside of my dorm room, and then my roommate, Melissa, turned on the television shortly before the second plane hit. It was as if I was watching a movie. It didn’t seem real.
Unfortunately, reality quickly set in, and I watched with the rest of the world in horror as the buildings collapsed. I began to see people jumping, people bleeding, people dying. And I was horrified.

I wanted to talk to my family, to know that I wasn’t alone in seeing what was unfolding before me. I tried calling my mom, who was in her classroom teaching back in Grandview. She wasn’t available. I tried calling my dad, who was already a few hours into his workday in Topeka. I left him a message. I then called my grandma Mary Ann, whom I knew would be home.

Grandma’s calm voice and optimistic spirit were exactly what I needed to hear. Far from home, she made me feel warm and sheltered. She assured me that, despite what was happening in the country around us, we were okay. Our family was going to be okay. My brother, who was in the Marines, would also be okay.

After 9/11, our country saw tremendous pride and brotherhood. It was humbling to see all of us come together. On September 11, 2001, it didn’t matter if you were black, white, purple or green, we all hurt together. And afterward, we forged on as one. United, in our differences and in our love for our country, we stood together.

My family was fortunate. I didn’t know anyone personally who lost their life on September 11, although the stories of those who did are not any less meaningful to me. 2,977 lives ended that day, but their stories are still being told. I eventually got ahold of my parents on September 11, after classes were canceled and I could do nothing besides watch the news. I will never forget where I was, how I felt and the way it changed me.

I think we all were impacted by September 11, whether directly or indirectly. We will always remember. We will never forget.