Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning?

On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was in Houston, working as an expat. It started as just another ordinary workday, until I noticed colleagues suddenly running down the corridor toward the canteen. Word spread quickly that something terrible was unfolding on the television.

I followed, and we all stood there, shoulder to shoulder, staring at the images on the screen, barely able to process what we were seeing. That was the first I knew. The room was filled with shock and disbelief. In the middle of it all, one of my colleagues muttered, “We’re at war, and no one f***s with Texas.” It was raw, defiant, and so very Houston in that moment — a mix of fear and fierce pride.

My first instinct was to call my mum & dad back home in Ireland, just to hear their voice and let them know I was okay. But the phone lines were down and remained so for a day or so. No matter how many times I tried, I couldn’t get through. That helplessness — of being so far from home and cut off from family — is something I’ll never forget.

It was a Tuesday Morning, and I think I spent the next few days glued to the tv, screen watching the aftermath unfold, the horror stories, the miracles and the sadness..

There were around ten or twelve of us, who had come out from the factory in Belfast to work in Texas. At weekends, we were like our own wee family, leaning on each other as we adjusted to life so far from home. And, true to form, those of us from Northern Ireland fell back on black humour we are famous for, to deflect the fear. It wasn’t disrespect — it was a coping mechanism. That sharp wit was the only way we knew to soften the edges of the horror playing out before our eyes.

Outside, the atmosphere in Houston was tense and surreal. From my apartment on Old Spanish Trail, you could see Fighter jets circling constantly above the oil refineries, their engines rumbling in the sky every 15 -20 minutes, a reminder that no one knew what might happen next. The streets were quieter than usual, as though the whole city was holding its breath.

What stood out most was the wave of patriotism that swept across Texas. Almost overnight, the Stars and Stripes appeared everywhere — flying from cars, draped over porches, painted in shop windows. The unity and pride were powerful to witness. As an Irishman, I admired it, but I also felt like a foreigner, standing on the edge of a grief and defiance that belonged to a nation I was living in, but not truly part of.

That day left an indelible mark. Ordinary men and women kissed their families goodbye that morning, went to work, and never came home. First responders ran toward chaos and gave everything to save others. Their courage, and the scale of the loss, are impossible to forget.

It’s hard to believe 24 years have passed. I was 29 then. I’m 53 now. Yet the images, the sounds, and the feelings of that day remain as vivid as ever.

We remember the lives lost. We honour the bravery shown. And we never forget.