Days of Giving

September 11th

24 years ago, I was living in New York City, just starting my career at Good Morning America.

24 years ago, I took the subway home after my overnight shift on what seemed like a perfect fall morning. By 7 a.m., I was asleep.

24 years ago, I woke to a flood of phone calls. Two planes had struck the World Trade Center. I turned on the TV in shock. When I called work they told me to rest so I’d be ready for the night shift.

24 years ago, I walked down to the Bay Ridge pier and watched the second tower collapse. The city felt unrecognizable.

24 years ago, I boarded one of the first subways back into Manhattan. The air was thick with smoke. My colleague Alexa and I walked through streets where pieces of people’s lives drifted down as ash.

24 years ago, I stepped into ABC News to help cover the most significant story of my lifetime. I called grieving families, first responders, and booked cars for interviews. When guests canceled, I offered to post missing-person signs because hope was all anyone had. Almost 3,000 lives were lost that day. The signs lingered for weeks like ghosts across the city.

24 years ago, the attack happened on a Tuesday. I didn’t leave work until Friday morning, catching a few hours of sleep on a friend’s couch. When I finally returned home, I wandered through my neighborhood, staring at candles, flowers, and handwritten notes, the makeshift memorials of a grieving city.

15 years ago, I decided to reclaim this date.

15 years ago, I married my best friend, surrounded by family and friends, turning a day of mourning into one of love.

This year, those vows were tested. My husband stood beside me “in sickness and in health” as I faced cancer, two surgeries, weeks of recovery, and countless tears. He never left my side.

Today, I hold two truths. September 11 will forever carry the weight of tragedy. But it is also a reminder of love, resilience, and gratitude. 15 years of marriage. 24 years since the day the world changed. Both shaping who I am, and what I hold most dear.

Expect the Unexpected

I could feel it. Things were finally on the verge of returning to normal. My recovery from the second surgery was moving along, and I was set to head back to work tomorrow. For the first time in months, life seemed steady.

And then came another twist.

Late at night, Alexa called me in tears. She was dancing in new pointe shoes when a turn went wrong, sending her to the floor with a twisted ankle. Alexa can be dramatic. She’s been known to cry wolf—but this was different. The pain didn’t subside. Her friends carried her to the car since I can’t lift heavy things, and by the time we got home, her ankle was swollen and the pain kept her up all night.

We clung to hope, but the X-ray told a hard truth: fractures in both the ankle and the growth plate. She needed a cast, no weight for at least four weeks, and months before she could return to serious dancing. Still, she refuses to give up. She wants to be there—watching rehearsals, jotting down choreography, and holding on to the hope that she’ll be back in time for the 2026 competition season. Just when we thought we had things under control life threw us another curveball.

Now she will have to be driven to the bus each morning and will need assistance at school. She’s excited to get a key to the school elevator and have friends sign her cast. She will be in a cast for her brother’s Bar Mitzvah.Meanwhile, my own appointments haven’t slowed. Between X-rays and orthopedists for her, I’m still shuttling between post-op visits for me. The verdict: more reconstruction ahead, and another MRI to confirm the cancer hasn’t returned.

This summer hasn’t gone the way we imagined. I don’t know why I thought this week would be different. Instead, it brought more unexpected turns, layered on top of the heartbreaking news cycle—the Minnesota shooting weighing heavily as I prepare to return to work.

If this season has taught me anything, it’s that life rarely goes as planned. Just when you think you’ve found solid ground, the earth shifts again. You never really know what to expect.