09/11/2026
25 years ago today, I was working in marketing for a technology company on Peachtree Street in downtown Atlanta.
I remember my dad calling me and telling me something terrible was happening.
I stayed on the phone with him as I walked into the break room, where everyone was gathered around the television. I can still remember standing there and watching the second plane hit.
Even writing that sentence brings some of the anxiety of that morning right back.
My dad stayed on the phone with me, keeping me calm and telling me, “You just need to get home.”
At that point, nobody knew what was happening or whether other buildings might be targets. We were working near the Bank of America tower, and our building was evacuated.
I got in my car and headed west on I-20 as fast as I could because my babies were at daycare and every instinct in me was screaming to get to them.
One of the strangest memories I have is looking up at the sky while I drove.
There were no planes.
And yet I kept looking.
At that point there was still so much confusion about how many planes were involved and where they were. I remember driving and waiting to see an airplane in the sky, terrified that if I saw one, I might watch it crash into something.
I picked up my children. Steve came home. And the next 24–48 hours are mostly a blur of being glued to the television. Like so many Americans, we were introduced to 24-hour news in a way we had never experienced before.
We were heartbroken.
We were scared.
And we were angry.
Someone had attacked us and thousands of innocent people had gone to work that morning, boarded airplanes, reported for duty, or kissed their families goodbye without knowing it would be the last time.
But I remember something else about the days that followed.
We came together.
For a little while, it didn’t seem to matter whether you were Republican or Democrat, liberal or conservative, rich or poor, from the North or the South.
We were Americans.
I remember returning to work and walking with my coworkers to a church on Peachtree Street for a prayer service. That season changed something in me personally, too. I began going back to church, and not long afterward I rededicated my life to Christ and was baptized by immersion.
So when I remember September 11, I remember unimaginable evil and unbearable loss.
But I also remember prayer.
I remember churches filling up.
I remember flags everywhere.
I remember strangers treating one another like neighbors.
I remember a country grieving together.
And I remember my daddy’s voice on the other end of that telephone telling his grown daughter that she was going to be okay and that she just needed to get home.
Tomorrow marks nine years since I lost him.
That’s one reason this time of year hits me so hard. September carries memories of a day our entire country changed, but it also carries the ache of missing the man whose voice was my lifeline through one of the most frightening days of my life.
I’ve since stood at the footprints of the Twin Towers in New York. There really aren’t words for what it feels like to stand there and understand the magnitude of the lives that were taken and the families that were forever changed.
Twenty-five years later, I wish we remembered more than the tragedy.
I wish we remembered each other.
I wish it didn’t take planes crashing into buildings, lives being lost, or some other terrible tragedy for us to remember that underneath all the labels we give ourselves, we’re neighbors. We’re families. We’re communities. We’re Americans.
We don’t have to agree on everything to love one another.
We don’t have to think alike to pray for one another.
And we shouldn’t need another tragedy to remind us how precious our country, our families, our neighbors, and our time together really are.
So today, I remember.
I remember the lives lost.
I remember the heroes who ran toward danger.
I remember the families who never got their loved ones back.
I remember a nation that stood together.
I remember my daddy’s voice.
And I pray we never forget any of it, though I fear many already have.
September 11, 2001. 🇺🇸 Never forget.
