FROM THE ASHES OF SEPTEMBER 11

September 11 changed us. So much was lost that day. Lives, landmarks, and our sense of security were shattered.

This year marks the 25th Anniversary of September 11. Twenty-five years have passed since that horrible day.

For the generation that lived through those hours between 8:46 and 10:28 am, we can still tell you exactly where we were when the first plane hit and when the South Tower fell.

As we remember the day that collectively transformed our Nation, I remember a trip I took the month before that transformed how I processed the horrific days that followed.

The Trip of a Lifetime

In July of 2001, I was invited to go on the First Air Force Leadership Tour. At the time, I was the Recruitment Coordinator for the Florida State University (FSU) Campus in Panama City. 

I was invited, along with a number of other civic leaders, to participate in the tour. I was so excited to go. We traveled all over Europe, visiting AF bases in Germany, Italy, and England. We stopped in Belgium to visit NATO and in Bosnia to visit Eagle Air Base. It was the trip of a lifetime. 

At each stop, I met soldiers and their families. At every briefing we attended, we learned how the end of the Cold War had changed the world and that terrorism was now the greatest threat we faced. Names I’d never heard, but would soon come to know well, were mentioned, Bin Laden and al-Qaeda among them.

The tour lasted ten days. We returned home as September dawned. I went back to work, grateful to have been part of it. I’d experienced so much and carried with me images of the places I’d visited and people I’d met serving our country abroad. They were no longer abstract faces, but very real people with names, families, and stories. 

Then, the unthinkable happened right before our eyes.

The morning of September 11th, I was in my office when my sister called and told me to turn on the TV. I didn’t have one in my office, so I went to the Commons area to see what was happening. 

The first thing I saw on the monitor was the smoke billowing from one of the World Trade Center Towers. The words scrolled across the bottom of the screen, informing me that at 8:46 am, a plane had flown into the North Tower. Many of my coworkers were there looking as shocked and confused as I was.

At 9:03 am, as we looked on, United Airlines Flight 175 struck the South Tower. At that moment, there was no mistaking what we were witnessing. This wasn’t an accident. My cell phone was still clutched in my hand, and there was nothing but silence all around me.

America was under attack.

At 9:37 am, Flight 77 crashed into the Pentagon. 184 people died, 59 passengers and crew, and 125 people inside the building.

At 10:03 am, United Airlines Flight 93 crashed into a field in Pennsylvania. 40 passengers and crew died.

The South Tower of the World Trade Center collapsed at 9:59 am. At 10:28 am, the North Tower fell. 2,753 people died, including 343 firefighters and 23 police officers.

We watched in disbelief and horror.

The Campus closed. It was a government building, so we were sent home. I rushed to pick up our daughters from school. I wanted them close. 

The fear was overwhelming. Not because I lacked faith, but because I was clinging to it with weak human hands in the face of the unimaginable.

As the days passed, everything felt surreal. The names I’d heard in those briefings were all over the news. The Air Bases I’d visited were mentioned too. Jets flown by pilots I may have met were sent to help. I may have sat in the cockpits of some of those planes. I could picture the runways clearly. Knew the hangers and briefing rooms because I’d been in them.

That knowledge changed my perception, sharpening it into a stark reality I couldn’t unsee. There was an intimacy now, an understanding I’d not had before.

As I watched, I remembered.

All the first responders and soldiers stepping up to help, to dig through the rubble, and in some cases sacrificing their own lives bore the same fierce loyalty and willingness I’d seen on the faces of the service members I’d met. Dedicated, fearless, and brave. 

They carried what I could not. They rushed in, rose up, and their courage didn’t waver.

Our television was always on. We witnessed the Towers fall. Saw the clouds of billowing dust as the buildings that represented America’s strength crumbled.

What was left was us, the people. The ones who’d carry that horrible day with us forever.

From the ashes of September 11, the true strength of America began to emerge. 

Our strength wasn’t destroyed when the buildings fell. 

We knew that when we heard about the passengers on Flight 93. They didn’t sit cowering; they joined in solidarity, knowing their lives would be forfeited. They acted anyway. 

We saw it as firemen, policemen, and EMTs rushed into the rubble instead of away from it. 

We heard it in the voices of our leaders. Saw it in the eyes of every person we met.

Not a fleeting strength, but a powerful, sustaining one.

A strength that unites.

As September 12th dawned, we were unified in that strength, ready to stand together, resolved not to give evil the last word.

We vowed we’d never forget.

I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when my sister called and urged me to turn on the television. Still clutching the phone, I stood horrified, not certain what I was seeing until the second plane came into view.

It’s been 25 years since 9/11.

Though we’ve not forgotten the horror, we have forgotten the unity that followed.

We’ve not forgotten the patriotism and faith that rose from the ashes, but we have neglected them.

We’ve not forgotten the connection we felt or the strength we borrowed from each other as the tragedy unfolded, but we haven’t nurtured it either.

No, we haven’t forgotten September 11, but perhaps we have failed to remember the strength and unity that rose to greet us on September 12th.

Lessons from the Aftermath

The Leadership Tour I’d been fortunate to be part of changed my perception of those abstract, nameless, and faceless people who “serve our country.” I could put names to their faces now. Had broken bread with them and held memories they were now part of.

September 11 changed my perception of America’s strength and where it truly lies—in its people. Those who serve, those who sacrificed, the first responders, the volunteers, and those left behind as the smoke cleared.

That same strength lives in each of us.

Every time we join in prayer, offer our support, and share our hope, we lend that strength. Every time we place our hand over our heart and pledge allegiance to our flag, we honor it and the strength and unity it fosters. More than that, we honor those who came before us and every sacrifice made in its name.

September 12 saw that strength and unity expand to cover every corner of our Nation. There was simply no room for division. We stood united.

Perhaps it’s time for us to remember September 12 again.

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The smoke cleared.

A new day dawned.

We were forever changed.

As a nation and as communities.

As families and as individuals.

First by shock, then by grief, 

sharing the weight

of unbearable sorrow. 

We watched, we cried, we prayed.

Standing shoulder to shoulder,

We bore the anguish.

Accepted the scars.

We prayed for those lost.

For those who rose up.

For those who gave all.

We pledged they’d never be forgotten.

That they did not die in vain. 

We vowed America would rise stronger.

One Nation, indivisible.

United under God. 

We renewed our commitment to freedom,

proudly saluted our flag, 

and pledged allegiance to our country.

As morning dawned

We remained resolute

Transformed by grief,

But fortified by faith.

September 11th was meant to break us.

On September 12th, we rose united,

believing in how strong we truly are

When we stand together.

Perhaps it’s time for us to remember

September 12th again.

JN Fenwick (© 2018-2026)

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JN Fenwick | mothjournal14 | ©2026 | All rights reserved. | I DO NOT WALK THIS RECOVERY JOURNEY ALONE.