September 11, 2001 was shocking for me, as it was for every American. After an emotional day, I did what I always do to process my thoughts. I wrote.

Nothing even approaching this magnitude had happened in my life to that point. I felt it was important to preserve these memories for my children so they could eventually understand the impact of the day.

The result was this letter to Alex.

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Dear Alex:

And while my story today is far less compelling than those who were directly involved, I feel the need to share it with you—to give you a personal connection to this day—so these events have meaning for you, even if that meaning is just how it impacted me.

I was having breakfast with my friend, Michael Rossi, when we noticed the wait staff at the Double T Diner gathered around a television. From across the room, Michael and I could see the World Trade Center with smoke pouring out of one of the towers.

I walked over to get a better look. A plane had flown into the building.

Wrapped up in my own issues, I hardly gave it a second thought. It was an accident. While we were sitting at the table, we saw another explosion and thought it was part of the same accident.

Sometimes when something is simply inconceivable, you don’t recognize it even when it’s staring you in the face.

As I drove to work, I thought about the “accident.” It didn’t make sense. The hole I saw in the building was too big for a small aircraft and the odds of a commercial airliner accidentally hitting that building were extremely long.

I turned on the radio. The explosion we saw as we were leaving was a second plane hitting the other tower.

This was definitely not an accident. America was under attack.

I was stunned—the kind of feeling you might have in a dream when someone is telling you something that just doesn’t make sense.

I stopped at Michael’s office to help him with a computer problem. His staff had heard about the events and was watching the news unfold on television.

A few minutes later, I heard excited shouts from the office next door. The Pentagon had been hit by a third aircraft.

The phone started ringing. The pressman’s mother called to make sure he was all right. Michael’s wife, Claudia, called in tears. Then his oldest daughter, a junior at the University of Virginia, called, also very upset.

More excited screaming from the next room. I ran in to see the pictures. Where was the other tower? I could only see one. It had to be the camera angle. A 110-story building doesn’t disappear. But it was gone.

A few minutes later, I watched the second tower vanish right before my eyes. Two landmarks that, in my mind, would forever define New York were wiped off of the landscape in an instant.

But it was so much more than the buildings. Fifty thousand people worked in those buildings. How many got out? We still don’t know.

The phone rang again. Claudia said there was another hijacked aircraft on its way to D.C. It would arrive within 10 minutes.

We walked outside and looked up. Washington, D.C. is just 50 miles down the road. It won’t hit here, will it?

Perhaps that’s what the people in Somerset County, Pa. thought before the fourth aircraft crashed there. Fortunately, that one crashed in an unpopulated field—fortunate for everyone except those on board, that is. I don’t know why that one missed its mark. I’m guessing it was due to heroic efforts on the part of someone on board that plane.

Rumors were flying as I headed to my office. A bomb was reported outside the State Department. Another on the Washington Mall.

Work closed early. I sat in an empty office for about an hour after everyone left and tried to comprehend what was happening.

Fifty thousand people went to work this morning, just like I did, fully expecting to return home at the end of the day and continue with their lives.

Hundreds of people boarded planes this morning, as I have many times, fully expecting to arrive at their destinations.

Instead, the passengers and the workers died—not because of an accident, but because of someone’s political and religious beliefs. That made me angry beyond words.

What made me even angrier was watching people dance in the streets of Lebanon while video of the destruction played. They danced in the streets and celebrated the murder of thousands of people.

I came home to find you and Jake playing while your mother watched the news. I asked you if you knew what had happened.

“Planes crashed into buildings,” you said.

“And one of them hit your work,” Jake added.

What he meant was that I occasionally work in Washington.

I spent the rest of the afternoon in my office at home listening to the news and busying myself with tasks I had been putting off. I found myself choking back tears all afternoon.

I’m overwhelmed with emotion. I’m angry at the senselessness of it all. I’m angry that someone thinks it’s okay to murder thousands of people to make a religious or political statement. I just can’t conceive of the warped mentality that makes that connection.

I’m frustrated because I can’t do anything. I spent all day watching rescue workers on television try to help those involved in the explosions. I wanted to help, but there was nothing I could do.

I’m filled with grief for the children who have to grow up without parents.

My greatest fear is that I will die before you are grown. I’m not afraid for myself, but afraid for you and the pain it would cause you.

I’m afraid because my greatest gift to you, if you choose to accept it, is the benefit of my life experience. I don’t want to die before having the opportunity to pass it on.

But mostly I’m angry over the insanity of the situation. They were dancing in the streets because thousands of innocent people died! Who does that?

And for a few moments, the whites who hate blacks, the Muslims who hate Jews, the Republicans who hate Democrats and the men who hate women in this country might all set aside their differences to focus that hate on the perpetrators of these acts. But at no point will they get the message that hate isn’t right.

Hate brought about the deaths of thousands today, and every one of the hate mongers in this country will cry out for justice. But will they stop the hate they spew? Probably not. This day will pass and they’ll go right on hating. They won’t have learned a thing.

When dinner time came, I thought we should have a family prayer. We have never done that. But I couldn’t do it. The thought of what I wanted to say brought tears to my eyes. I never would have gotten through it.

So I’ll say here what I couldn’t at dinner.

Thank you, God, for keeping my family safe and for all the other blessings we too often take for granted. Please bring comfort to the families of those who died today, watch over those who were injured, and bless those who joined you today in heaven.

We talked later in the evening. I explained that there were bad people in the world who do bad things. I explained about the people who weren’t coming home. And I explained how lucky we were today and every other day. I barely got it out without crying.

I suppose you understood as much as a six-year-old can. We said the best prayer that two people who never pray can say. I kissed you good night, told you I loved you, came downstairs and started writing.

There are a few days in my life that approach this one. The day Challenger exploded is the first time I can remember staring dumbfounded at the television thinking, “This isn’t supposed to happen.”

The day the Gulf War started I had the same feelings of fear and dread as today. War became a whole lot more personal when it involved people I knew instead of people I read about in books.

But this is worse, much worse. Perhaps because it’s closer to home. Or perhaps it’s how difficult today was to comprehend.

Some died in an instant when a full load of exploding jet fuel incinerated them. Some died more slowly from smoke or burns. Some died by jumping from dozens of stories up, thinking that an infinitesimal chance at life was better than certain death, or perhaps that a quick death was better than a slow one.

And some died when 200,000 tons of concrete and steel collapsed on top of them, literally tearing them limb from limb.

I watched people dancing in the streets to celebrate this carnage—cheering, laughing and celebrating.

I watched American landmarks that I thought would stand forever be wiped from the face of the planet in an instant—110-story skyscrapers collapse into a tomb of concrete steel and rubble. They collapsed like a house of cards. One minute they were there. The next, they were gone. Unbelievable.

And as I was watching all of this, my mind was processing everything while my heart was screaming, “No, this can’t be happening!”

All I could do was sit, stare and choke back tears.

The media said America changed forever today. I felt like I needed to share it with you.

It’s well past midnight now and I’m exhausted. I’m going to try to set the images of the day aside and get some sleep.

Hopefully, tomorrow will be just another day.

Love,

Dad

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Mine is one of many stories from that day. It’s not nearly as compelling as those who were directly involved in the day’s events. But I believe it reflects how many Americans felt that day.

Looking back 25 years later, I take three things from the events of September 11.

First, in the face of tragedy, we stopped seeing each other as Republicans and Democrats, Christians and Jews, black and white. We were just Americans.

Second, I heard a quote attributed to Mr. Rogers.

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.'”

The helpers were the heroes that day. They gave me hope.

And finally, I remember what was most important when everything was uncertain—family and the people we love.

Mitch and Dakota are participating in the Million Mile this month in Alex’s memory. They are raising funds for childhood cancer research so Alex’s story doesn’t have to be someone else’s story.

You can donate here.

All donations are matched by Alex’s Lemonade Stand Foundation.