Every September 11 is referred to as 9/11. How ironic that the same configuration of numbers is the 911 we use to call for a police, fire, or medical emergency.

The spectacle of planes flying into the Twin Towers in New York City, the sight of the smoldering wreckage of planes and the Pentagon building and the burnt hole in a Pennsylvania field, were devastating events that should remain part of our collective memory. But as the years pass, people forget. Maybe it seems less real, or it hurts to remember, or it is too overwhelming to explain to future generations.

Murdered that day were 2,977 innocents. We honor their memory when we remember.

Perhaps you had to live within proximity of the tragedies or be exposed to the hypnotic television coverage that ran and ran for days or had known someone who perished to feel the panic that wouldn't leave you.

Seared into my memory of that September 11 morning is the moment the principal came to my classroom door and asked if I had anyone who worked in the Twin Towers. Then, did I know if any of my children had parents who worked there. We exchanged whispers, and I watched her go from classroom to classroom. Turning back to our room, I looked at the children and knew that teaching must resume, while trapped inside me was a brewing horror.

In the days that followed, I struggled to comprehend what had happened to our country and was at a loss to explain it to my third-graders. The best we could do was just talk about the bravery of the rescuers and make cards for the firefighters. That gave us all a badly needed sense of what was good in this madness.

After the funerals of the parents who were killed, their children returned to school. During those first few days, a little special needs girl would walk hand in hand with her teacher down the hall. She would repeatedly call out as you passed her, "My daddy died."

Hijacked American Airlines Flight 77 slammed into the Pentagon that day. Among 184 victims were 22 Army soldiers and 33 Navy sailors robbed of their chance to defend this nation.

The heroic passengers on United Flight 93, hearing of the destructive pattern of hijacked planes through cell conversations with their loved ones, rose up to fight their hijackers. They knowingly sealed their fate and brought their plane down in a Pennsylvania field — to total oblivion — killing all aboard and saving an intended target somewhere in D.C.

Unsung heroes abound from that day and the days that followed. Those countless stories are hard to read. For one remarkable example of the American spirit, watch the YouTube video "Boatlift, an Untold Tale of 9/11 Resilience."

The FDNY firefighters, knowing that racing into that smoldering hellhole was a defining moment, did not hesitate to help those trapped inside. Three hundred forty-three died instantly when the towers collapsed.

Here's a salute to those firefighters in so many states who will honor their FDNY brothers by climbing 110 flights of stairs, in full gear, at their city's commemoration. You remember.

My American flag will fly once again on September 11 for the image of that little girl whose voice I will forever hear; for my cousin's brother-in-law who was working as a carpenter on the 105th floor of the South Tower; for the 75 FDNY firehouses that experienced losses; for the 60 NYPD, NJPD, and Port Authority police officers, along with eight EMTs, who gave their lives for others.

For those who died that day, for those who bear the scars, and for myself, I will sing God Bless America!

Molly Maffei Baldwin is a retired New Jersey elementary teacher. She now lives comfortably in small-town Texas. She may be contacted by email at mollymaffeibaldwin@yahoo.com.

Image: Nancyswikiaccount via Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA 4.0 (cropped).

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