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Ann Van Hine
a book bubble about
Pieces Falling
Biographies & Memoirs
Author Insight
This anniversary
For many years I have told our story, your story, my story, the story. The story of a beautiful late summer day that was shaken by an act of terrorism. The day that separated time to before and after. A day when people I know and don’t know experienced things no human being should experience. A day when acts of compassion that would later be called bravery were the norm. For weeks I have been pondering why this anniversary feels different. I think just now at 4:30am I figured it out. And it saddens me to my very core. My heart is broken at the realization that if the attacks were to happen today, I think as a nation we won’t react as we did in 2001. On that day we saw the worst of humanity and the best of humanity. Today in 2025 I don’t think we even understand how to be a human, a good human. So, what do I want you to always remember and never forget. I want you to remember the people who carry the stories of September 11, 2001, in their hearts and minds – the survivors, the downtown residents, the first responders, the family members, the volunteers, the military members, the journalists, the public officials and the flight crews. Don’t worry I still believe that light drives out darkness, that “these three things remain- faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”
Book Excerpt
Pieces Falling
Our invitation to attend NYC’s first September 11 memorial service arrived mid- summer. As the date loomed on the horizon, I felt uneasy. Was there an appropriate thing to do? What were the expectations?
In a conversation with Carol, she said, “Do what you want to do.”
Those six little words gave me the freedom I needed. It lifted the burden of expectations—real or imagined.
Emily, Meghan, and I decided not to go to the memorial service at all.
We agreed that, on the anniversary of the attack, we wanted to be together, just the three of us—just as we had been on September 11, 2001. We had always felt that the world—family, friends, firefighters—had arrived on September 12, 2001. But the hours immediately following the attacks had belonged to us.
* * *
“Mom, do you think it would be weird if I hung a photo of Daddy on my locker at school?”
“Meghan, that sounds lovely. Which photo?”
“I think the one in his turnout gear, and maybe I will add a Bible verse or something.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
Meghan hung a single 8.5 by 11–inch sheet of paper that included the photo of her dad and Revelation 7:15–17 Scripture verse.
“Therefore, they are before the throne of God and serve him day and night in his temple; and he who sits on the throne will spread his tent over them. Never again will they hunger; never again will they thirst. The sun will not beat upon them, nor any scorching heat. For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd; he will lead them to springs of living water. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”
Since Emily had already started her freshman year of college, Meghan and I drove to Massachusetts the night of September 10 and stayed in a local hotel.
The morning of September 11, 2002, we arrived on campus in time to meet Emily for the chapel service.
The guest speaker was Dr. Mucci—a friend, mentor, and the person I had, a year earlier, suggested to God was the one righteous person in NYC.
After chapel, the girls and I headed to the nearby Quincy Beach to share stories about Daddy and to pray. We then had coffee at Friendly’s as I explained to the girls that I bought a composition notebook so we could record things we wished we could share with Bruce about events since his death.
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