13 years ago, I was 9 years old. I remember September 11th, 2001, and the days following it, vividly. Waiting for my dad to come home from his office in NYC was terrifying, and my heart goes out to all of the families that waited by the window only to learn that their loved one wouldn’t be returning. Many kids in my town lost their mom, dad, or other family members. Rather than turning inwards and shutting off help, these fractured families relied heavily on us coming together as a town to provide both immediate and long-term assistance. My dad spent hours with a boy from down the street who lost his dad, a boy that is now a young man.

It is in the toughest of times that we realize how strong we are.

I will never forget 9/11, as it is part of my history, but on this day I also remind myself that 9/11 did not break me, or my community, or NYC, or the USA. We persevere.