I don’t remember where I was on Sept. 11, 2001. But the story of Ron Fazio Sr. as told by his son led me to better understand the impact of 9/11 two and a half decades later.
I went to the Sept. 11 museum. It taught me about grief | Opinion
I knew from friends who had visited the museum that it was a somber place. I wasn’t prepared for how much it moved me.
Robert Fazio has had to piece together the last moments of his father, Ron, through conversations with those who had seen him in the south tower of the World Trade Center on Sept. 11, 2001.
He was in the Aon Corporation offices on the 99th floor when the plane struck the south tower. Although employees were told to return to work, he urged his coworkers to evacuate instead.
On the way out, his coworkers told the family that Ron Fazio held the door open for people as they descended the stairs to get out of the building.
In what would be his last moments, Ronald C. Fazio Sr. chose kindness.
“His instinct was to put others first, just like he always was, and how he lived his life,” Rob Fazio told me from his New Jersey home days before the anniversary.
The family handed out flyers that described Ron’s height, weight and the scars on his chest and left leg. They asked whoever found him to feed him Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Despite this, the family buried an empty casket in New Jersey the following year.
“While we didn’t find him, we found his inspiration, which really became the cornerstone for everything my family and friends have done for the last 25 years,” Rob Fazio said.
A family mourns – and creates a way to help others
This year marks the 25th anniversary of the terrorist attacks that killed 2,977 people and impacted millions who watched it unfold. Ron Fazio’s story, as told by his son, helped me better understand that day and the grief we have all lived with for two and a half decades.
At the time of the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks, Rob was in a psychology doctoral program at Virginia Commonwealth University. He changed his dissertation topic to focus on the emotional impacts of the day on grieving families.
It ultimately led him and his family to found Hold the Door for Others in his father’s memory the following year, a nonprofit dedicated to fostering growth through feelings of grief. He learned what works through both his studies and experience.
“When it was time to look for my dad, I could buck up and be like ‘Okay, we’re looking for my dad and my family friends,’” he told me. “And then, when it was time to cry hysterically and grieve and be like ‘Where’s my dad?’ I was able to do that, and I knew all of that was normal.”
How I learned what ‘never forget’ really means
I don’t remember where I was on Sept. 11, 2001. I was four years old and living in North Carolina. I don’t remember whether I went to preschool, saw anything on television or even sensed my parents’ fear. I recently asked them about it. My dad, a banker, told me about the turmoil it wreaked on our financial system, while my mom said she had to choose between staying informed and shielding me from the tragedy unfolding on the news.
Now, as I approach my 30s and as a New York City resident, I have a clearer picture of what happened that day.
I know people who were affected. To learn more, I recently took a trip to the 9/11 Memorial & Museum. The One World Trade Center loomed over me as I walked past the tourists, yellow and blue hot dog carts and signs for luxury apartment buildings in the Financial District. As I passed by St. Paul’s Chapel, an Episcopalian church that became a place for recovery workers to gather in the aftermath, I saw banners put up by the city that said, “never forget.”
Most people in Gen Z, born between 1997 and 2012, were not alive when the attacks happened. For most of my generation, Sept. 11 is just another day. When we picture the New York City skyline, we don’t imagine the Twin Towers. We have forgotten, because there is no memory to retain. What I have learned is that for people who lost loved ones or were simply living in the tri-state area when the attacks happened, there is no forgetting.
“I don’t think, in American culture, we do grief enough justice,” Rob told me. “It impacts us more than we know. For some reason, we have this cultural norm of, it’s an adjustment period for three months, and then you’re fine, but no. It lives with you for the rest of your life.”
It surprises me that the Fazio family was able to start the nonprofit so quickly, in the midst of their pain. But it speaks to a throughline of our conversation: one of the many ways to grow in grief is to share what you’re feeling with people in your life, whether it’s sadness, anger, or moments of levity.
In fact, I was surprised to learn in my conversation with Rob that humor in tragedy helps us connect and is a healthy part of healing.
While Gen Z has the humor part down, I do think we struggle to remember a day we may not have been alive to see. That’s why it’s important to learn more about the day, experience the human condition at its most vulnerable, and listen to survivors’ stories and what happened that day and in the period following the attacks. That’s part of the reason New York City public schools recently set aside $1 million to educate students on the Sept. 11 attacks.
The 9/11 Memorial and Museum showed me the impact of Sept. 11, 2001
I knew from friends who had visited the museum that it was a somber place. I wasn’t prepared for how much it moved me.
As you walk into the start of the museum, you’re greeted by a hall of voices reacting to the day, while quotes and photos reflect on a series of screens. You reach an alcove overlooking the rest of the museum, featuring a map that shows exactly where you are in relation to the original buildings.
The main exhibit details, down to the minute, what happened that day, from the polls that opened that morning to the president’s return to Washington, DC, that night. There were floppy disks and burned papers from the rubble, which struck me – I guess I forgot that these were actual office buildings.
On a display of headlines from Sept. 12, I found the USA TODAY front page front and center – a picture of the Twin Towers aflame, with the headline “Act of War” summarizing the day. Our DC offices at the time were right by the Pentagon – multiple people in the newsroom reported seeing the explosion. In 2011, former USA TODAY writer Rick Hamson, who wrote the front-page story, said it was a “blessing, of sorts” to be able to cover the events. I understand the sentiment – it feels true, even now. To learn and write about it is the best I can do to express love to my fellow Americans, especially my fellow New Yorkers.
A photo of Ron Fazio is on the wall of the “in memoriam” section of the museum, alongside the images of 2,976 others who died that day, plus the six who died in the Feb. 26, 1993 bombing. His name is etched in bronze on the border of the 9/11 Memorial. He is remembered as an equal in death, alongside his coworkers and family friends, a piece of a larger story about a dark day in American history.
But my conversation with Rob showed me the man his father was, and the figure he remains even though he is no longer here. He is remembered through his son, who now helps others navigate grief. He is remembered every time his small grandchildren hold the door open for strangers. He is remembered, and that is how he lives on.
Remembering what happened in 9/11 will always be important
As I walked out of the museum and toward the memorial pools flowing toward an unknown center, I thought about how the country I live in changed that day, and how my life changed before I was old enough to understand.
I don’t know what to make of the world created by 9/11. I find myself stuck grappling with how the United States responded – the forever wars, the Islamophobia, the paranoia. I struggle with the fact that our country responded with vengeance. Perhaps I would feel different if I remembered the day.
Yet during my visit to the museum, I thought about the grief of it all, and how, in our conversation, Rob Fazio told me that the things that mediate the pain of grief have not changed for thousands of years.
“We went back to the core of human beings,” he told me. “Ok, there’s pain. If people share that pain, then the pain is less intense. If people aren’t afraid of you because of that pain, the pain has less power.”
The way we remember 9/11 is complicated. Grief is complicated. But as I saw at the memorial and museum, it’s important that we remember the severity of the day and the lives lost.
Follow USA TODAY columnist Sara Pequeño on Bluesky: @sarapequeno.bsky.social