From the window of my office on the Potomac River waterfront in the Georgetown neighborhood of Washington, D.C., I saw the smoke rising from the Pentagon across the river in Arlington, Virginia. The Twin Towers in New York City had already collapsed. I had arrived at work less than an hour ago; but I knew it was time to head home to my apartment in Virginia, in case the bridges spanning the Potomac might have to be closed off.

Everyone who remembers that day doubtless has their own story to tell: of witnessing one of the horrific events in New York, D.C. or Pennsylvania; of a family member, friend or acquaintance lost or nearly lost in one of the attacks; or simply of not being able to get a phone call through to check on people and to let them know you were all right.

And we recall the country pulling together as it hadn’t done since World War II. The sense of community, of collective strength and determination, of the sheer pride in being an American, is something I still vividly recall feeling as I steered my car through the gridlocked traffic and observed drivers politely yielding the right of way to others, and pedestrians saying thank you as they crossed in front of us.

It lasted for quite a while. Other countries came to our aid — to help the Americans who were so accustomed to helping others in need. Songs were written to commemorate the heroes of that day. People sprouted little flag pins on their clothes, tied larger ones to their car antennas, and hung even bigger ones from their balconies or flagpoles. We were united in a common grief that transcended any petty differences we might have had before.

But time passed, and memories of that day were gradually pushed into the backs of our minds by newer events. An entire generation now exists of people who hadn’t yet been born on that day, or were too young to know what had happened.

And with the inevitable dimming of the memories, the flush of patriotism also eroded over time . . . until today, when our political environment is rife with unspeakable hatred, anger, and violence.

Let us hope and pray that it doesn’t take another calamity of the magnitude of World War II, or September 11th, to return us to some semblance of sanity.

And in the meantime, let us pay tribute once again to the nearly 3,000 innocent people who lost their lives that day, and to the first responders and other heroes who gave their all to help others survive.

We must never, ever forget.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
9/11/25