The picture is of my New York City — how it looked back in 2001.

20 years ago today (9/11/2001), I drove into work.

I was about an hour by train from what is now known as Ground Zero, working in the suburbs of this New York City.

When I got to my desk, someone said that a plane crashed into the Twin Towers. I didn’t believe it.

Then someone else came over to tell me about a second crash into the other tower. I was in disbelief!

I was a new manager and my boss was working remotely from the office in Louisville, KY. His boss, my mentor, whom we lost 10 years later to breast cancer, was on her honeymoon in France.

Then we heard of the crash into the Pentagon and the failed attempt and tragic crash in PA.

The CIO came over to me in some sort of shock-driven trance and said, “I’m going home. You’re in charge.”

It’s 10 AM. I still haven’t seen the news or heard anything but hearsay.

I spent the rest of the day checking on my team and the rest of the building, listening to shock, grief, and fears, and trying to comfort them and convince them to stay put for now until we know more about what happened and how the roads were. It’s a rough task for such a young introverted but empathic manager, but as I do, I did what needed to be done.

I also attempted to find my six-year-old son, whom I found out later that afternoon had ended up being rounded up with his teachers and transferred with the other younger schools to the local high school.

One of my younger team members decided to go back home, taking him back through Manhattan. I tried to dissuade him to stay and wait for news, but he had to find his mother.

My brother and sister were both at work in Midtown Manhattan, found each other, and walked from 34th Street to 125th Street to try and get the train. It took them until about 8 PM to get back home to Westchester.

My ex-wife called to let me know that Ian was safe at home around 5 PM.

I finally decided to drive home around 6:30 PM. It was in the opposite direction and the back roads were quiet into Northern Westchester.

Around 7 PM, the first time I had seen the film footage, both planes hitting and the buildings falling. I broke down in tears.

I lost many friends that day, though my family was safe. My father and younger brother covered a fire station in the Bronx as the Bronx firefighters went down to Ground Zero to pull out bodies.

The next few months were somber, and no airplanes flew overhead. An occasional chopper patrolling the nuclear plant was an eerie sound. Such a time can truly change you. I would not go back into the city until September 2003 — now adorned with two large blue beams of light surrounded by fences where the Towers used to stand.

But I also remember that we as Americans put down our politics, put down our disagreements, put down our anger, and pulled together to help one another and make something constructive out of the rubble…lest we forget.