Each year, Georgia Military College Prepatory School hosts a Patriots Day Essay Contest in honor of the lives lost on September 11, 2001. GMC chose a high school winner, Matthew Webster, and a middle school winner, Izabella Whitehead. Webster formatted his essay as a letter to the editor while Whitehead chose to write a personal letter from a parent to their son.
Izabella Whitehead Dear Son,
Today I got a call from your school that left me speechless. Your teacher informed me that you made a joke about 9/11, supposedly mimicking the sound of the plane crashing and the screams of people on the streets. I had to sit down and take a deep breath after I hung up because of how disappointed and heartbroken I was.
You’re only 11. I know you weren’t there.
But I was, and I lived through it. I still live with it to this day.
I was a firefighter with the New York Fire Department in 2001. I was a part of Ladder Company 3, one of the now oldest New York Fire Departments. That job was my everything. The man I worked with for my family. However, on that tragic September day, I wasn’t running into burning buildings to save lives. I was at home with my newborn son, my pride and joy. You were barely 3 weeks old at the time, sleeping in my arms whilst I watched Flight 11 hit the North Tower at 8:46 a.m. on the news. Immediately, my heart dropped to my stomach. No one knew what was going on at the time, but my gut told me right away, that after the second plane hit the South Tower, it wasn’t an accident.
My first reaction was to call the station and inform them that I was coming in.
Your father begged me not to go, saying I had a newborn to take care of. He was equally as distraught as I was. At that moment I was overwhelmed by the decision I had to make. I had a choice, to stay with my family and live or possibly lose my life trying to save others.
Captain Patrick Brown told me, “You’ve done enough stay with your baby.” So, I stayed. I stayed whilst every instinct in my body urged me to run towards the chaos, towards the smoke and flames, and towards my people.
No one from Ladder Company 3 made it back alive. Their names are now engraved on headstones, websites, articles, and news blogs because I wasn’t there to help them. That guilt has lived in my chest for decades now. Sometimes I would stand over your crib and think about them in the earliest hours of the morning. They laughed, cracked dumb jokes, and when the time came, they saved lives. I would imagine what it would have been like for them, climbing floor after floor in that toxic, black, choking smoke, not knowing if they’d survive. If I was there, they could have been here today.
So, when I heard that you, my son, ridiculed what happened on that day, even if you thought it was “just a joke,” I felt something deeper than disappointment.
I feel like I failed to teach you what that day really means. We don’t remember 9/11 just because it was tragic. We remember it because it showed us who our true selves were in a time of crisis. In the face of absolute horror, people ran towards danger.
Firefighters, paramedics, policemen, and even strangers that helped carry each other down flights of stairs were heroes.
People held hands, hugged, and prayed in those final moments. Even in the worst kind of darkness, there was light.
I will always remember the time the first plane hit, because that was when I realized I wouldn’t be able to be a hero that day. I held my baby while others climbed their last flights of stairs and made their last phone calls to loved ones.
I’ve had to live with that — and I would again, a million times over, to keep you safe. But it means you owe that day some respect. Not because it’s just a chapter in a history book, but because real people, my friends, never made it home.
Tomorrow, during the moment of silence at school, please stand still as still as you can and ponder the individuals that entered those buildings and never found their way back. Think about your mother, who couldn’t join them, and whose lives with that ache every September. Most of all, consider why we remember — not for sadness alone but for the courage, sacrifice, and the way people unified. This isn’t just my pain. It’s our history and you have an obligation to carry it forth with honor.
Love, Mom
Captain Patrick Brown and 11 other men a part of Ladder Company 3 perished during 9/11 when the North Tower collapsed. Their ladder truck is now displayed in the 9/11 Memorial Museum as a permanent installation. Ladder Company 3 was one of the first firefighter units to show up at the World Trade Center on 9/11.
Matthew Webster
On this day 24 years ago, the world seemed to stop for a while. Tenth grade chemistry class sure did. As I watched the television that morning, I saw things that people should never even have to think about. I knew that morning that my life and everyone else’s life around me would ever be the same. My brother was the Ladder Chief for Station 2 in downtown New York City. As I watched the news, seeing smoke, fire, firetrucks, ambulances, survivors covered in dust, and papers flying in the sky like snow, I couldn’t help but think of what he was doing at that moment.
I watched as the North Tower burned, thinking it couldn’t get any worse, but at 9:03 a.m., I was proven fatally wrong. Another plane flew directly into the South Tower, and it was as if I was struck dumb. I couldn’t believe anything I was seeing. The possibility that this was an accident was over for good. We were under attack. I stood there staring blankly at the television, trying to think of things I could do, but it seemed like all I was good for was sitting right there and watching as the world changed. It was impossible to even make a phone call. I looked everywhere on the TV, as if I was going to be able to see my brother and yell at him that I loved him, or he needed to be careful, or he just needed to RUN. But of course, I didn’t see my brother. I just sat there helplessly trying to forget what was happening but at the same time trying to comprehend what everyone I could see must be going through and how I couldn’t do anything to help them. It seemed that no matter what I wanted or tried to do, I couldn’t move and just stood there watching in disbelief. At 9:59 A.M., as I watched the South Tower collapsed, all I could think of was how my life was never going to be the same. But I know that my brother never had a single thought about how this was going to affect him. That just wasn’t the kind of person he was.
Listening to accounts from other first responders that went in the towers with him, I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that he had nothing on his mind except helping every person that he possibly could without a single worry for himself. Knowing my brother, he was not going to leave until he had saved everyone from the buildings, or he lost his life himself. He would do anything to help someone even if he had to face the consequences of that help. After his first trip up the stairs helping guide people to safety, he was not even close to being done, and even after his second trip he still wasn’t done. But on his third trip up the stairs, the building collapsed, and he perished, becoming one of the 343 firefighters who lost their lives that day. When he died, he left behind his 3-month-old daughter Kate, his wife Hailey, and his three brothers.
Even with his life all together, he did not hesitate to run towards danger in hopes that someone else could also have a life like his. My brother never did anything for recognition or fame, but instead he did everything for the greater good for everyone around him. In this case, it meant losing his life on 9/11. He didn’t know what the outcome would be when he answered the call that morning, but he was ready. He had trained for this, in one way or another, his whole life. He was going to do everything he could. And when the South Tower collapsed at 9:59 a.m., he had done just that, and more.