What September 11 Took From Me

In May, I visited the Maritime Museum in Halifax, Nova Scotia and watched a film about a cargo-ship explosion in 1917 that killed over 1,700 people and injured many more. The images of the flattened city reminded me of the devastation in Lower Manhattan after the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center. Halifax experienced a blizzard following the cargo-ship disaster, similar to the dust and debris from the fallen towers coating the Financial District in New York City.

I listened to the recorded voices of Halifax survivors recounting their memories, and it brought me to tears. Twenty-five years after September 11, 2001, a single image or memory can still evoke the exact moment I learned that my husband, Jeffrey R. Smith, would not return home from work that day. I too became a voice in a museum at the National September 11 Memorial & Museum, where visitors can share family memories of a national tragedy.

Years before, we participated in the museum's project with StoryCorps, recording our family memories from home. My two daughters, then 8 and 10, and I decided to contribute. While they took turns speaking on the cellphone, I felt a mix of nervousness and pride that their words would capture their innocence at ages when their father was still alive. I have not heard their recordings but have thought about doing so, but the thought of listening to my own voice among strangers overwhelms me.

We took turns reading historical plaques in Halifax, and I always make a point of honoring the names on memorials. When the girls were older, we visited Washington, D.C., and stood in front of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, reading a name aloud and praying for the young soldier and his family, hoping that one day Jeffrey R. Smith's name would be on a plaque too. Unlike the victims of war, Jeffrey and the thousands of innocent civilians killed in the September 11 attacks were casualties of terror.

Knowing that our voices are preserved in a museum is both gratifying and unsettling. I appreciate the memorial and the moment of silence for those who lost loved ones, but being part of such a monumental tribute feels overwhelming. This anniversary reminds me of the unique pain of loss that I, like many widows and widowers, carry as part of our nation's history.