09/11/2026
September 11th is a complicated day in our family.
Twenty-five years ago today, my firstborn daughter turned 12 years old. We wished her a very happy birthday as we shuttled her off to school. She was born in 1989, long before anyone could have imagined that her birthday would forever share a place in history with one of the darkest days our country has known. As her mother, that has meant learning how to hold two very different things at the same time. There is the joy of celebrating the life of my daughter, and there is the sadness of remembering the lives that were lost, the families forever changed, the first responders and ordinary people who stepped forward, and a country that would never be the same again.
I have never wanted one to overshadow the other. I celebrate her. I remember them. I make room for both.
For several years now, my daughter has chosen to honor September 11 in her own way. She paints and decorates her Arabian mare, Marti, and brings her to the Carbon County Courthouse memorial. It has become part of how she remembers and pays tribute. This year, because of a conflicting work schedule, I have the honor of taking Marti in her place.
And perhaps that feels especially fitting this year.
Twenty-five years later, I find myself thinking not only about what happened that day, but about who we were in the days that followed. We saw people helping people they had never met. We saw ordinary people become heroes. We saw communities come together, strangers stand shoulder to shoulder, and a country remember what it meant to be Americans before everything became so divided into sides.
There was a sense of togetherness, of pride, of looking out for one another. Not because we all thought alike, believed alike, or came from the same place, but because in that moment we understood that we belonged to something bigger than ourselves. I fear we have allowed too much of that to slip away.
Remembering September 11 isn't only about remembering what we lost. It is also about remembering what we found in one another afterward—and choosing not to lose that part of ourselves.
So today, I begin by celebrating my daughter.
I will also stand with Marti and remember those who lost their lives, those who ran toward danger while others ran away, the families who lost someone, and everyone whose life was forever altered by September 11.
There is room for both.
Happy birthday to my firstborn, who has spent 25 years sharing her day with history and has found her own beautiful way to honor it.
We Remember. We Never forget.
