• People still exactly recall what happened on September 11, 2001.
• A jet slammed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center.
• A girl shares her story.

Even after more than 20 years, I can still exactly recall what happened on September 11, 2001.

A jet had slammed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center, it was announced in geometry class when I was 15 and a sophomore in high school. A girl in front of me started crying.

I was too preoccupied comforting my classmate, whom I went with to the guidance counselor’s office, to worry about my dad, even though I knew he worked on the 104th floor of the South Tower.

There I learned that my mother’s parents would be picking up my sister Jessica, now 26, and brother Matthew and taking us home.

My siblings, who were six and four years old at the time, were kept busy in the other room while I was permitted to watch the events develop live on television. While fielding a number of calls from friends wondering if we’d heard anything, I assisted my mother by calling hospitals to see whether my dad was present. It was draining on the soul.

Although the mobile phone network was down, I seem to remember that my dad was still able to reach his mother. He had said, “I’m OK.” They advise us to remain in our current location. The last time we heard from him was then. But my heart told me he was safe as I saw the South Tower come down at 9:59 a.m.

The following morning, my mother and I drove into the city, parked the car, and then had to walk a good number of blocks to get to Ground Zero. It seemed strange.

In addition to the eerie silence, I will never forget the ash around my ankles. I then realized I was effectively standing in one big cemetery because it was all that was left of the Twin Towers.

Thousands of flyers featuring pictures of people’s missing loved ones had been hung. As we hurried from one Red Cross tent to the next looking for indications that my father was still alive, I forced myself to suppress the terrible feeling I was experiencing.

After a week, my mother decided to sit us down and tell us why our dad wasn’t returning. I was inconsolable. But because I was the oldest, I felt I had to assume the position of the second parent and take care of everyone in the coming weeks and months to make sure they were all okay.

My mother pushed herself into her work and quit her position as vice principal of a school early to help a congressman. My brother would spend hours playing with Legos, building towers and breaking them, while my sister withdrew.

On December 1, 2001, my father had a lovely memorial liturgy, but it wasn’t until long later, when I was at a friend’s father’s burial, that I realized he had passed away. I started crying uncontrollably and broke down. I was now crying for him because my grief had finally overwhelmed me.

A police officer arrived to our home in Howell, New Jersey, to inform us that my father’s remains in the form of his teeth had been identified after a considerable period of time—perhaps six months—had passed.

As I became older, I continued to experience intense grief, especially around the anniversaries of 9/11. So, while my sister sought support through Tuesday’s Children, a charity that supports the families of 9/11 victims, through counselling, I made the decision to see a therapist when I was 20 years old.

I learned how fortunate I was to have had my father for as long as I did with the assistance of a professional, and I also learned to value the ideals he had ingrained in me.

Because of him, every Christmas I work with charity to fill shoe boxes with toys to donate to people in need. He was such a hilarious, kind, and generous man.

Camping excursions in the Poconos where, at age nine, I caught my first fish and he helped me reel it in are some of my favorite memories of him.

I didn’t want to touch it before he threw it back into the lake undamaged, which caused us to laugh a lot. I could never harm an animal, just like him.

When I brought home turtles or goldfish, he would show me how to take care of them and would constantly urge me to be kind with our elderly golden retriever, Kelsey.

When I was twelve, my family and I went to SeaWorld, where my father encouraged me while I participated in a dolphin swim. I currently work at the Dolphin Research Center on Grassy Key, Florida, as a marine animal behavior specialist.

He would have been very pleased that I not only pursued my passion but also contribute in some way to society.

Last year, on the 20th anniversary, my sister and I read aloud a list of names at the memorial in New York, which included the name of my father.

While I’m grateful for the chance to stand there and speak on behalf of the men and women who lost their lives that day, I’m also incredibly saddened by their passing.

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