When the Sirens Stop: Remembering the People Who Ran Toward the Fire on 9/11

By Maria Sikoutris-DiIorio, MA, EdS, MFT, LPC

Clinical Director, Hellenic Therapy Center

Every September, we remember where we were when the planes hit the towers, when the buildings fell, and when our world changed forever.

We remember the photographs. We remember the names. We remember the families standing behind barricades, holding pictures of the people they were desperately hoping to find.

And we remember the first responders.

On September 11, 2001, firefighters, police officers, EMTs and other first responders ran toward buildings that everyone else was trying to escape. They climbed stairs carrying equipment while thousands of people were desperately making their way down.

They knew there was danger. They went anyway.

Nearly 3,000 people were killed that day, including hundreds of firefighters, police officers and other first responders. But the story of September 11 did not end when the fires were extinguished or when the cameras eventually moved on.

For many, that was only the beginning.

Recently, I listened to a powerful conversation between Jalon Johnson, host of the podcast Not Your Ordinary Parts, and my colleague George Faller, LMFT. Their episode, “When the Sirens Stop,” explores something we don't always talk about when we remember September 11: what happens to the people who survive.

George Faller brings a particularly powerful perspective to this conversation. He was a firefighter and first responder who experienced September 11 firsthand. He later became a therapist, working with first responders and their families.

His journey reminds us that surviving something does not necessarily mean leaving it behind.

The sirens eventually stop. The uniforms are hung up. The news crews leave. The memorials are built. Life appears to move forward.

But trauma doesn't always follow the same timetable.

It can show up years later—in a marriage, in a family, in someone's sleep, in their relationships or in the quiet moments when there is finally no emergency to respond to.

And sometimes the people closest to a first responder are carrying a piece of that trauma, too.

Spouses waited for their husbands and wives to come home that day. Children waited for parents who never returned. Parents lost sons and daughters. Siblings lost brothers and sisters. Friends lost friends. Coworkers lost coworkers.

And thousands of first responders came home carrying memories that most of us could never fully understand.

That is why remembering 9/11 has to be about more than the buildings. It has to be about the people.

The 2,977 lives lost were not statistics. They were mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, friends, neighbors and coworkers. They had birthdays coming up. They had vacations planned. They had children to watch growing up. They had ordinary lives that were suddenly and violently interrupted.

And then there were the people who survived—and had to figure out how to live with what they had seen.

Perhaps that is one of the most important lessons we can take from September 11.

We often celebrate courage in the moment. We honor the person who runs toward the fire. We applaud the person who saves a life.

But what about the years afterward?

What happens when the adrenaline is gone?

What happens when the sirens stop?

George Faller's work reminds us that courage can look very different then.

Sometimes courage is asking for help. Sometimes it is acknowledging that something still hurts. Sometimes it allows a spouse or family member to understand what you have been carrying.

And sometimes courage is simply continuing to live.

As we approach another September 11, I hope we remember not only the images of that terrible day, but the human beings behind them.

Remember the people who ran toward the fire.

Remember the people who waited for them.

Remember the people who never came home.

And remember those who did come home—but were never quite the same.

Because the sirens eventually stop.

The memories don't.

And perhaps our responsibility is to make sure we never stop listening.

To hear the full conversation, “When the Sirens Stop,” featuring Jalon Johnson Podcaster of Not Your Ordinary Parts and George Faller, LMFT, visit: https://youtu.be/3Ld14Son1J0?si=I7Ti3YJX2l3Vs4HP

Maria Sikoutris-DiIorio, MA, EdS, MFT, LPC, is the Clinical Director of Hellenic Therapy Center, 567 Park Avenue, Scotch Plains, New Jersey. www.hellenictherapy.com (908-451-3452)