It was a hard day in the United States for everyone. I was only three years of age, so I don’t remember what happened that day. I don’t know exactly where I was or what I was doing like most people remember clearly. It wasn’t until I was older that I understood the pain and tragedy that occurred on September 11, 2001.

There is a hiking trail about ten minutes from my house that my dad took me to all the time. I remember reaching the top and being able to see the Twin Towers. My dad would point to the one on the right and say, “Look that’s where Daddy goes when he isn’t at home with you.” The buildings seemed like they were so far away. I would put my fingers up to them and then close them, squishing the towers in between the small tips of my fingers. My dad would laugh at this and call me a cutie. We would walk back down the trail and get into the car and drive back home.

My dad's company laid most people off except him and his boss, and they were told to go to the World Trade Center for a trade show that their company was at to show off some of their new software. Their software was not completed and they needed it done to sell. They let my father and his boss stay home that day and sent two girls instead.

On September 8, my Aunt held a birthday party for my little cousin’s first birthday. My dad and his two brothers were out by the garage playing basketball. My uncle Andy, who is nine years younger than my father, decided to elbow my father in the ribs when he went up for a jump ball. There was a pain in his stomach that my mother thought might have been a hurt rib. Since my father is a “if it ain't broke don’t fix it” type a person, he didn’t go to the doctor right away. After my mother became sick of his complaining, she demanded he see a doctor.

He went to the doctor on Tuesday, September 11, 2001. The doctor told him that his rib was only bruised and that the pain should subside within a few days. He didn’t go into work that day where he was supposed to attend a meeting on the 106th floor. He would not have gotten out alive that day.

My grandmother, my dad’s mom, was unaware that he didn’t go into work that day. My grandmother describes that fear of not knowing to me, she tells me that she has never felt such pain and fear in her entire life. Fear that my father was trapped inside a burning building, incapable of getting out. Once my dad got ahold of the news, he called her. She was so happy that he didn’t go into work that she cried tears of joy. She describes the sound of his voice like a drop of rain in the middle of a two-year drought.

I didn’t lose my father on that day, I am lucky enough to say that he is still with us and I grew up knowing my dad. I am grateful that fate decided to let him stay with us and I am sorry for the young woman who died in my father’s place. I am sorry to her family and friends and all that knew her. My dad says that she was a wonderful woman who had dreams and ambitions for a bright and lively future. He tells me, my sister, and my mother how he loves each one of us every day. I am thankful for my life and happy to have the privilege of living it.