9/11 –  The day our world changed

In 2018, a young New York student arrived in The Echo for a work experience placement.

On the 20th anniversary of 9/11, Tara McCoy writes once more for The Echo, and about her father Rich McCoy who was one of the first responders at 9/11.

When talking to most New Yorkers about September 11, 2001, there is a shared sentiment that it was a beautiful morning. Many recall that there was not a cloud in the sky.

My cousin Briana described it as one of those days where you could almost feel the optimism. This day would quickly take on a whole new meaning, a day of devastation, loss and pain, but also a day of resilience and unity.

Growing up, my father was my best friend and my hero. He was a loving father to myself, my brother and my sister and a devoted husband to my mother Dawn, the love of his life. Many remember my dad as a dedicated son, brother, cousin, friend or coach, loved by many.

My dad, Rich McCoy, began his life of public service as a New York State Trooper and then became a New York City fireman with Engine 68/Ladder 49 in the south Bronx, a firehouse best known for being the first responders to Yankee Stadium.

My dad followed in the footsteps of his father, William McCoy, who was a Lieutenant in the FDNY and remembered those years fondly, remaining close to his brothers from the firehouse years after he retired.

Tara McCoy recalls her wonderful dad, Rich McCoy, who was one of the first responders on 9/11

The early years of my childhood are filled with memories of my incredible family. My dad loved the outdoors and would often bring us hiking, fishing, kayaking, or just about anything else that you could do outside.

From a young age he instilled in us a great appreciation for the outdoors. He taught us the importance of family and had a protective nature about him that I will never forget.

I often find myself remembering and reflecting on quick phrases of his that have stuck in my head, to this day. A few of the most frequent being “stay cool, calm and collected”, “you guys are brother and sister, you look out for each other” and “If you’re going to do a job, don’t do it half way”. Everything I am today is because of him and my mom.

I was barely two years old on September 11, 2001 and most of my memory of that day comes from stories told by my mother, aunts, uncles, grandparents and cousins, who remember it well.

That day, my dad and some of his friends from the firehouse were heading upstate. Early in the morning, my mom received a call from my dad that they had been called into work.

He kept the conversation vague and just told her that he needed her to meet him right off the highway and to bring his flashlight and the kids: my older sister Christy Ann, who had just turned four, myself, two years old at the time, and my younger brother Patrick, who was eight months old.

My mom grabbed the flashlight, put her three toddlers in the car and headed out. After retrieving the flashlight, my dad made sure to give each of us a kiss goodbye and was on his way.

When mom got home, she turned on the news and quickly realised that the meeting off the highway wasn’t about my dad needing the flashlight but was about him needing to say goodbye before heading to the firehouse.

Rich McCoy on duty

The World Trade Center had been struck by two planes, in the largest terrorist attack on American soil, and these men, like so many others, did not know if they would return home. My mom did not see my dad until a week later.

My sister, who was four at the time, recalls my mom watching the TV, leaving the room for a few minutes and then coming back to check the TV again. This routine is all she remembers from that day. My cousins recall their classrooms having TVs rolled in, with students whose parents were affected being called over the loudspeaker, and my aunts and uncles remember seeing the planes hit the towers and fleeing to safety.

Mom didn’t see my dad for a week after September 11 and after that, it was sporadic for weeks to follow.

My dad, like so many others, would work for hours, digging through the rubble and would occasionally return to the firehouse, only to sleep for a few hours, then would repeat this again.

My dad’s sister, Kathy recalls watching the buildings burn on the news for weeks after, and the anxiety that she felt every time there was a larger than usual burn. After that came the firefighter’s funerals. My mom says that it felt like there was one every day, sometimes more.

I simply cannot imagine a grief so deep and so widespread.

My mother describes what she saw as layers upon layers of grief, sadness, and anger, but also a strength and determination to keep going.

My father’s health issues began quickly after September 11, with the shortness of breath being the most concerning. He was told to see a cardiologist and based on the results of his angiogram, his fire department career had now suddenly come to an end at the age of 38.

He had always lived an active, healthy life, didn’t smoke, rarely drank and had no family history of heart issues.

Following the devastation of months of inhalation and digging through the rubble, he had two complicated coronary angioplasty surgeries and life from that point on became about being present, being healthy, and nurturing and appreciating time together with his wife, family and friends.

I always remember my father telling me, Christy Ann and Patrick about the dedication and bravery of those who lost their lives on 9/11. He made sure that we knew the sacrifices that were made that day and appreciated those who made them.

We would quickly become more familiar with these sacrifices than we had ever imagined and would receive the harsh reminder that this horrible day continues to take from us.

Despite his active and healthy lifestyle, the toll that 9/11 and the time after that had on my father’s body was too much and he died in 2012 of a heart attack.

We were lucky enough to have 11 amazing years with him after that horrible day and I know I speak for all of us when I say that we cherish those days and wouldn’t trade them for the world.

It is always shocking to me to hear first responders talk about the health issues that are likely on the horizon.

I have often heard these health issues discussed in the context of when and how, not if.

In past years, friends of my father and fathers of my friends, who shared that bravery on September 11 have faced the same fate. Each time it is a devastating reminder of the sacrifices made that day and continue to be made by those brave men and women.

Emergency services working their way through the rubble

My family continues to live by the values instilled in us by my father. My sister, Christy Ann, shares his appreciation for the outdoors, working in Glacier National Park, I honour my father’s dedication to the community as a caseworker in New York State Senator James Skoufis’ office, while my brother shares my father’s bravery and dedication to public service as a member of the United States Marine Corps, currently preparing for deployment.

My mother carries on my father’s legacy in the most beautiful way through her love and dedication to her family. The Richard G McCoy Memorial Foundation was founded shortly after my father’s death and awards four scholarships annually, to students who dedicate themselves to community service.

Tara as a young girl with her family

September 11, 2001 was a day full of loss and pain, but also a day of unity and community. My hope is that the selflessness and dedication that was demonstrated by so many on that day, can be remembered and honoured.

I hope that people are able to remember that Americans and New Yorkers are not people who can be broken, that we are people who can love one another and come together in the face of tragedy. My hope is that those who lost their lives that day and those who lost their lives in the days, weeks, months and years following, rest peacefully.

I hope that their loved ones can find peace and that their sacrifices are never forgotten.