September 11th 2001

I realized how close I’d be working to the World Trade Center on my first day at HarperCollins. My colleague that was training me asked if I had ever been to the memorial and I told her I had been avoiding it entirely. That’s when she explained we were working across the street.

I swore to myself that I’d never work in that neighborhood. As a medium still struggling with making spiritual boundaries, I was terrified I’d see the souls that were lost that day. I was scared I’d feel the energy of that tragic day and my anxieties would return.

I was just a child when the towers were hit. My family and I would watch the news reports on a loop for months after the attacks occurred. It was all very real but, at the same time, it was out of arms reach. I did not experience the terror firsthand. I was not living, working or going to school in that area. I was just a preteen from Queens who, thankfully, did not lose anyone on 9/11. I had friends and family members who lost loved ones but I did not experience that firsthand. Everything was experienced indirectly.

During one of my first lunch breaks downtown, I aimlessly walked through the neighborhood. I turned corners and crossed streets without any thought behind it. I do this a lot when I’m speaking to spirit, asking to release any stresses of my life or when I’m asking for guidance. I had my head down and music in my ears to simulate being alone. Manhattan is overcrowded but it’s especially packed in that area. The energies of so many tourists and New Yorkers can be overwhelming so walking alone always required music and looking down as my feet brought me where I needed to go.

Suddenly spirit told me to stop walking. I looked up and found myself standing in the memorial. I was surrounded by tourists taking kissy-face selfies beside the names of those we lost. People had huge smiles plastered on their faces. They were happy on this massive gravesite. The energies became too strong for me to handle. I couldn’t breathe. I was dizzy and felt sick to my stomach. My head was instantly throbbing and I thought I may pass out. I made an abrupt turn and went back to work.

My coworker sat at our desk and asked me if I was okay. I told her spirit somehow led me to the memorial and I was either feeling sick from all of the energy there or sick from how everyone was acting around such a place. We began talking about September 11th and our experiences on that day. I told her about family friends who ran from the enormous plumes of smoke and debris, scared for their lives. She said, “It wasn’t just smoke, Megan. It was the ashes of those lost. For months after the attacks, everyone in this area were inhaling the remains of bodies. They were breathing in the victims and yet here these people stand on this gravesite, laughing and having fun. It’s disrespectful.”

I vowed to myself that I wouldn’t return to that place. Months later, on the 15th anniversary of the attacks, I sat at my desk with a new coworker. We shared our experiences once again and bonded, as many New Yorkers do, over the pain from that day. Her mother sat in a park with a woman covered in dirt and debris, calming her down as she was shaken from everything she had just survived. My mother stood on a rooftop with her arm around me, pointing at the Manhattan skyline covered in smoke, explaining the pain and suffering our world just experienced. Together, we expressed our gratitude for the strength of our mothers.

Last year was a different experience. Nights prior to 9/11 I watched the old news reports on youtube. I watched videos of people running for their lives. I watched videos of people standing in front of the building I worked inside, looking up in horror at two towers on fire. At 27-years-old, I sat watching other twenty-somethings experiencing the tragedy firsthand. When I was a child it felt as though this evil was just out of arms reach. The people who were suffering were so much older than me. I didn’t know them personally. I didn’t know the neighborhood personally. I could somehow distance myself just enough from the situation to prevent my heart from hurting more. The truth is, it could have been me. It could have been anyone.

People say, “Never forget” but the anniversaries immediately following that day would have television specials reminding you of the sacrifices so many people made. As years passed, the television specials became less and less. Eventually, I’d have to search for them just to find something to remind me of that fateful day. Now, I have to watch it on youtube.

Last Friday, the morning news ended with the anchor saying, “Oh, by the way- Monday is the anniversary of September 11th-“ before it was quickly cut to commercial. That was it. No other mention of the lives lost, the survivors illnesses, or the pain from that day. I don’t know if they stopped playing the television specials because it triggered too much pain or if they just don’t get high ratings from it anymore. We repeat on this anniversary, “Never Forget” but seemingly try to for the other 364 days of the year.

The month before I quit my job, I walked around the neighborhood again. It was raining and this time I was consciously aware of where I was going. I went back to the memorial. It was nearly empty. I stood amongst a handful of people who were not taking selfies or making silly poses. They stood silently in the rain, placing their hands against the names carved into the memorial, holding each other closely and looking at the reflecting pool.

We stood there, quietly united in the respect the memorial deserved. To me, this was a bookend to my time in that neighborhood and at that wonderful company. It showed me how much I had grown. A year earlier I dragged my feet at the thought of visiting such a place but here I was, praying the Lord heal the hearts of those who lost loved ones on that day. Praying that my family friend suffering from the illness caused by being a first responder would find his health improving.

When I was in 7th grade, my mom picked me up early from school and brought me to the roof of her work. She pointed to the skyline and explained it was changed forever. I heard the lump in her throat as she struggled to find the strength in her words to say, “Parents were picking up their children early from your school today but sadly some parents won’t be coming home again. There will be some classmates who will be going through a lot of pain so remember to show them as much love as you can. Always use your heart, Megan. It helps others heal.”

As the names of those who died are being read allowed this morning, I continue to hear their family members say things like, “Dad always told us to make sure we hold doors open for people even if they don’t say thank you” or “Grandma always said we should take care of others” or “My Uncle ran to save lives without thinking of how he was risking his own. It didn’t matter to him as long as lives were saved.”

We are all capable of helping other human beings feel loved and appreciated. Whether that’s holding a door open or saying thank you when a person does it for you. The reason I wish more television specials about this tragedy aired is because many of them serve as reminders of the heroes from this day. Whether it was a hero for something big like someone running into the imploding building to save a life, or a hero for something small like sitting in a park calming a shaken woman and giving her a wet napkin to wipe the dirt off her face. We are all capable of doing something heroic for someone else.

My nephew was a baby when the twin towers were attacked. He doesn’t remember the severity of that day like I do. While I say the reality of that day felt almost out of reach for me, its even further from his grasp because he didn’t experience it live on television like we all did. I’m grateful for that. At the same time, I want my nephews to grow up in a world where they see heroes don’t only come in the form of a blockbuster hit. Real heroes come to fruition on regular days but especially on days like today. I want my nephews to grow up in a world knowing that being kind and special to another person is not something out of their reach. It’s entirely possible to be a hero to a stranger through small acts of kindness.

Today, I thank the heroes who risked their lives to save others. To those of you that lost loved ones 16 years ago on this day, I’m sorry for your loss and I thank you for being a hero in your own right. Waking up every day with a grief on your heart takes a kind of strength that isn’t usually acknowledged or appreciated but it inspires me to take on the day when I’m feeling that similar grief.

I thank the first responders, like Ron, who may not always get the acknowledgement you deserve. Thank you for being a hero on 9/11 and the days that followed. Thank you for also being a hero of a neighbor to my family.

We go about our days as we normally would because there is work to be done and life to be lived. Still, I ask that you take a moment today to remember the enormity of it all and pay respect in your own way, whether that’s through a moment of silence or just using your heart to let others heal. Thank you and God bless.