As I sit here and see post after post on social media commemorating the 14th anniversary of the tragedy that occurred September 11, 2001, it is hard to imagine this happened 14 years ago. Though I was just a happy-go-lucky kindergartener at the time, that does not mean I do not have a fond memory of what happened on that faithful day. I had no idea what was actually going on following the attacks, all I knew was that New York was shutting itself down, and that meant I could go home from school early.

I remember getting home and watching my mother cry while watching the news, and then telling me that I would not be going to dance class that night because it was cancelled. Five-year-old me then proceeded to sit down in the basement while overhearing my mom upstairs frantically call my relatives to ask if they were ok. Only problem was the phone lines were down all across the island, and all major roads were closed down.

My grandfather and uncle were, as far as we knew, stuck in New York City, in buildings directly next to the World Trade Center. We did not know the whereabouts of either one of them until over twelve hours later. My little brain didn't seem to understand why my mom was worrying so much when it was the middle of the day and they weren't supposed to be home until later that day.

Breaking the news to a young child that thousands of people had just died as a result of planes crashing into major buildings located about 45 minutes away from you must have not been an easy task for my mother, and truthfully, I do not remember how exactly she explained the situation.

As I grew older, I began to obtain a better understanding of what exactly happened that day, and the global affect it had on the world. My understanding however, was much more quantitative and based on what I learned in social studies class. I watched many a History Channel documentary on the 9/11 attacks but what I learned did not compare to what I learned from hearing personal stories.

Just this morning, my coworkers and I got into a discussion with my coworkers about 9/11, and we each shared the story of how it affected us personally.

What struck me most from our conversation was when one of my coworkers brought up stories she had read about people who worked in the World Trade Center, but for some reason, whether it was a flat tire or late train, were not present in their building at the time of the attacks. I recalled one story I had read about an individual who had spilled coffee on their shirt on their way to the WTC, and returned home to change; this caused them to be late for work, but also is the reason they are still with us today. The stories gave us all chills, and rightfully so.

It is incredible to think that something as simple as a coffee stain could save someone's life. Whether you believe in God or miracles or anything of that sort, you must at least consider the idea of some sort of divine intervention must have occurred in cases like those.

This really gets you to start thinking about your own life, and questioning whether the little and minute actions you do every day have a greater impact on your life. It's quite terrifying to think about actually.

Until I moved out of New York to begin school at Villanova last year, I did not realize how deeply the September 11th attacks affected people my own age who did not live anywhere near New York. Everyone has their own personal story, and everyone was affected in a different way.

On this day we remember all those who were affected by the tragic attacks on September 11th, 2001. May the ones we lost, as well as their stories, never be forgotten.

President George Bush put it best when he said:

"This is a day when all Americans from every walk of life unite in our resolve for justice and peace. America has stood down enemies before, and we will do so this time.

None of us will ever forget this day, yet we go forward to defend freedom and all that is good and just in our world."