I was 25 years old on the morning of September 11th, 2001 and, by the time I woke up to get ready for work, the planes had all been hi-jacked and both towers of the World Trade Center had already been hit. I turned on the news like I usually did as I got ready for work to find chaos still unfolding. Both towers were on fire and everyone was trying to figure out what was going on. The first one could have been an accident, but the second one wasn't and it became clear that we were under attack. I was ironing my pants when I watched the South Tower fall and my first thought was about all of the firefighters who were heading up the stairs to help people and the knowledge that they and the people they were trying to help were dying right before our eyes. I hadn't been called to not go to work so I finished getting ready and left the house on auto-pilot. I'm sure that everyone around me on the freeway was listening to the same thing I was. I remember the exact spot I was in when the North Tower fell; I can still picture looking at the freeway bridge ahead, surrounded by other cars in rush hour traffic and my next action was to call my dad. He couldn't talk more than to say he didn't know what was going on anymore than I did, but I needed that connection right then.

When I arrived at SeaWorld San Diego where I worked, the first thing I noticed when I got out of my truck, still in shock about everything that had happened and was still unfolding, was how quiet it was. We were near the flight path for Lindbergh Field so we constantly heard planes flying by after takeoff. Planes were being ordered to land and none were being allowed to take off so the sky was filled with silence. It was eerie and wrong how quiet it was. I made my way to the Park Operations office in the back area where I joined the rest of my office mates still absorbing the shock of it all. The managers and my supervisor were scrambling around talking on their radios as we waited to hear from the main office in St. Louis (as we were owned by Anheuser-Busch at the time) to see if we would be opening the park at all. We at least had the company of each other as we heard about the plane that crashed into the Pentagon and then the plane that went down in Pennsylvania. We finally got word before the time of park opening that we would remain closed for the day, only the second time ever in my time there that we kept the park closed. We were kept in the office for a couple of hours more in case we were needed for something before they sent us home early.

Quiet. Everything was still quiet and it seemed as if everyone stayed home or went home early. The drive home was quick and the first thing I did was turn on the television, because how could I not watch, how could I not want to find out what had and was still happening? Every single channel, including MTV, had news replaying what footage was available of the events in Manhattan, of the towers on fire, the firefighters scrambling to get there to help, the people above the impact levels choosing their own fates as they jumped out of the buildings before the fire could reach them because help wasn't coming, couldn't come, because help was blocked by the fires created by the planes crashing into the floors below them. Then the towers fell, and people ran for safety in the streets or into stores and restaurants to get away from the falling debris and dust clouds. As the dust settled in places, people could be seen covered in it as they walked the streets trying to find places to go. Fire trucks and engines were smashed or surrounded by debris. The Pentagon was on fire and had a partial collapse. There was a crater where black smoke rose from in the field in Pennsylvania when a plane had crashed and the stories began to spread of the revolt against the hijackers on that plane that was thought to be headed for the White House. Finally, I had to look for something else to watch and found that Animal Planet was one of the few channels not showing the news.

The park reopened the day after, but soon bag checks would be conducted before anyone could present their tickets to get into the park and items allowed would be restricted. And, just like when I was a kid when hijackings of planes were a semi-regular occurrence, only passengers with tickets who had been screened through security would be allowed at the gates at the airport. Of course everyone was on edge because who knew what else might have been planned who and what else might be targeted. The days that followed were filled with stories that came out of New York, the Pentagon, and Pennsylvania of calls being made from the passengers to loved ones, and we began to learn the names of the victims and the heroes. Passengers ranged in age from infant to elderly - school kids going on trips, people flying home from business trips or to or from vacations. It would be announced that the New York Fire Department lost over 300 firefighters when the towers fell. Details would emerge about Flight 93 and the passengers deciding to fight against the attackers knowing that they likely wouldn't survive, but fighting back anyway. Vigils were held all over for those lost and missing at the site where the World Trade Center towers once stood. Details emerged about the hijackers, the terrorists who caused all of this loss of life. But, more importantly, stories of people helping people gave everyone hope, gave everyone good things to hear about; of people helping evacuate others before the towers fell, of people taking in those who had evacuated off the street, of boats coming to evacuate people out of Manhattan, of people helping passengers stranded in places they were forced to land. For all the loss of life, there were survivors, at least for a little while.

There was a flag pole that was in my view as I walked to the office every morning that belonged to the SeaWorld marina right next to us. The morning of the 11th, it had flown high in the wind and the silence, but the following day it was lowered to half-staff and would remain there for a week. It was a week full of despair for the dead and the missing, for the attacks that shook our nation and tried to break our spirit. But people are resilient and we Americans excel at being resilient. Seeing the flag return to the top of the flag pole to fly high in the wind while hearing the planes in the air once more filled me with pride, hope, and certainty. Certainty that we would come back stronger, united and we did. We would heal and we would never forget.

25 years later, I can still remember events as if they were yesterday and yet there are still things I learn that I hadn't known about all those years ago. I don't shy away from remembering because those events are a part of my life, a part of me. A few years ago, I met the father of a young woman who was on the plane that hit the South Tower when my family and I went to support the San Diego Memorial Stair Climb. He gave my son a pin with her name and picture on it and every year since, I remember Lisa Frost, forever 22. I think of her and the other 2,976 people who lost their lives that day. They live on in their families and they live on in those of us who remember. I made a promise and I intend to keep it.