Reflections on Loss and Bravery: Remembering United Flight 93

Trauma entered my life at the age of 10, delivered softly by my pediatrician. While out of school with a toe infection, the doctor informed my mother and me that a plane had hit the World Trade Center in New York City.

At that age, one’s world is intimate and immediate. Just a week earlier, we had enjoyed a typical Labor Day weekend at my grandfather’s Connecticut home, spending time together sailing and cooking. That doctor’s office visit did not initially connect with the fact that my father had departed for a business trip to San Francisco that morning.

My father, Donald Greene, frequently traveled due to his work in aviation, making his early morning flight from Newark Airport routine. However, on the night before, I had requested he wake me to say goodbye—a moment my mother would later reflect on with disbelief.

Back home from the doctor, we watched the twin towers and the Pentagon engulfed in smoke on CNN. My mother then turned to me with a haunting expression and shared the news that my father’s plane had gone dark.

On September 11, 2001, my father was aboard United Airlines Flight 93. Unlike the planes that struck the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, Flight 93 fell short of its target. Aware of the terrorists’ intentions to reroute the plane towards Washington, the passengers and crew launched a courageous attempt to retake control. This heroic encounter ended when the plane crashed in a vacant field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. Their sacrifice thwarted further devastation.

Over the past twenty-five years, my family’s remembrance ritual brings us to that rural field, honoring the bravery of those who chose to confront evil with selflessness.