Through us, they live on

I cannot explain it but every time I see the news footage of the South Tower crumbling on 9/11, I always think, “That’s when it happened.”

That’s when the world lost Tommy Foley.

I know that thousands of other innocent people lost their lives that day in tragedies connected to the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. But of the nearly 3,000 people that died that day, the only one I knew was Tommy Foley.

He was a 32-year-old firefighter from West Nyack, New York, assigned to Rescue 3 in the Bronx. His firehouse was one of the first to respond to the Twin Towers on the morning of September 11, 2001; at least, that’s what I recall being told then.

I met Tommy in 2000 when I was freelancing for People magazine, and was assigned the enviable task of interviewing him as one of People’s Top Bachelors of the year. It was the debut of the magazine’s annual bachelor issue, and Tommy Foley was the only non-celebrity of six faces to make the cover. We’re talking big-time celebs like George Clooney and Derek Jeter, whose photos were lined up on the July 10, 2000 issue, among whom Tommy Foley was the only “average Joe.”

I can tell you, Tommy was no average Joe, though he would debate you no end to say he was. I have no doubt that he was one of the FDNY’s bravest, based on what I learned about him both from interviewing him and from having the unpleasant job of interviewing those who loved him, in the days and weeks after he died.

Tommy had been a decorated member of the FDNY for 11 years, following in the family footsteps that led him into a career that he shared with his brother and brother-in-law. Somewhere along the way, he made a dramatic rescue on the job and caught the attention of the news media, which led to exciting opportunities. His good looks and amiable personality landed him bit parts in The Sopranos and Third Watch, and he dabbled in acting and modeling because those opportunities came calling. But he loved his fulltime job and firefighting was his first love.

Tommy knew the importance of family and he played as hard as he worked. He rode a Harley, played football on the FDNY team, and excelled in rodeo bull riding, to name a few of his passions. One part country boy, one part city boy, that was Tommy. He told me once that he loved the fact that he felt equally comfortable in his cowboy hat and jeans as he did dressed up in a tux for a night out in the city. He was right too. He pulled off both, seamlessly.

As we mark another September 11th in our lives, I am compelled to share Tommy Foley with you. Not because I knew him well or even for a long time. I probably had less than a handful of conversations with him over a period of a year, keeping tabs on his career or interviewing him for the magazine. I didn’t need more than that. Tommy Foley invited you into his life. Without intending to, he made an impression.

As an individual, he was genuine; generous with his time and sincere in his wish to be a good person and to have a good life, enjoying his family, friends, and the activities that made him happy. There wasn’t anything that Tommy wouldn’t do to help someone in need. His actions on 9/11 certainly are evidence of that.

There is something about the anniversary of a death that engages our memory. Almost like a switch has been turned on, the mind automatically pushes play, and we revisit, review, relive, and remember the moments of that fateful day in our lives: the day our lives changed.

When a tragic event takes place and affects a great number of people simultaneously, the grief response is as wide as it is deep. It is collective. For Americans, 9/11 triggered a collective grief that seared the psyche of our country and left a giant scar. Because we suffered through this tragedy together, we have a shared pain. So what do we do with it?

As the world recalls the 9/11 terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center that jolted our collective consciousness nine years ago, some of us will publicly memorialize a loved one or will simply acknowledge the tragedy with compassion. Through social networking sites, online memorials, or roadside shrines, we will see the individual responses to this collective grief. What surprises me is how seamlessly this personal messaging converges onto the public landscape.

I have been doing this in referencing my sister, Joyce, in prior blogs and I’ve done it again here in memorializing a remarkable young man that I had the privilege of meeting several years ago. Like my sister, Tommy Foley was one of those uncommon gems you happen upon in life. Individuals of that caliber, you cannot leave in the past. You must bring them with you into your present, into your future.

Why do we do it? Why do we choose to open up our pain to the outside world? I’m working on the long and detailed response to that in my Journey to Dissertation. I’ll be sharing my observations and discoveries here, so if you’re walking with me, you’ll learn as we go.

But I’ll offer the short answer for now because the question requires one. We do it because we all know what it’s like to lose someone. We share our grief because in keeping our loved ones a part of the conversation, we keep them present, we honor their lives, and we continue the relationship with them in a new way.

When you love someone that much, you don’t leave them behind.

For those who never had the chance to know Tommy Foley, consider yourself introduced. Today, in a small way, you know him. And today, because of that, he lives on.