On the morning of September 11th I was home with my three children who were seven, four and four days old. I had said goodbye to my husband earlier when he left for work and turned my attention to getting my daughter ready for her first day of nursery school, taking care of my first grader who was too sick to go to school and of course my newborn’s needs.

When the phone rang I almost didn’t answer it, but I thought it might be Tom calling from work to check on the kids.

It was Tom on the other end, he frantically said, Terry, a plane hit the building.

Tom was on the 104th floor of One World Trade Center, the North Tower. He told me he was with a group who had cell phones and they were going to the stairwell. After a few more private words, I hung up the phone.

The TV was playing and I called out to my mother and told her what I knew. Tom was in danger and going to try and get out. Then, the images came on the television and I saw what the world was witnessing…a gaping hole in the North Tower right below where my husband had just phoned me to tell me he loved me. The black smoke billowing out and upwards took my breath away and I could barely speak. I yelled to my mother, that’s where Tom is mom…look at that mom, no one can get out of that.

No one from Cantor Fitzgerald lived. 658 beautiful souls died a horrible, frightening death. There were six sets of brothers, two sets of sisters and two unborn children from Cantor. I lost over twenty friends, my beloved husband and father of our three children.

September 11th was a brutal attack on America. It began in the skies terrorizing men, women and children and needed in a field in Shanksville, PA.

The al Qaeda terrorists struck at the heart of our economy when they hit the twin towers, the heart of our military when they hit the Pentagon and were aiming to hit the seat of our government by targeting the U.S. Capitol.

For over two decades I have dedicated my life to exposing the underbelly of terrorism and holding the financiers responsible. I am a patriot. I love my country and I advocate for the truth about who, why, and how America was brutally attacked.

The aftermath of September 11 was horrific in every sense of the word. Terrorism does exactly what it intends to do…it frightens you to your core. It brought parents to their knees and left families broken beyond repair. When the smoke cleared and the fires were extinguished, over 3,000 children were left without a parent’s loving arms to hold them or their wisdom to guide them.

The days after 9/11 were filled with love, compassion and support from my hometown, across America and the world. America embraced the victims’s families with letters, gifts and kindness. When the pastor asked me to tell him what kind of a man was Tom Strada.

“Well, Tom was the kind of man that when he left this world, he left me with the support of a nation.”

The phone call that morning is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing for Tom because was able to reach me and a curse for me because it brought me on to the 104th floor of a burning inferno where the last words spoken from my husband were with a raspy voice from the smoke.

Tom’s remains have never been recovered but I still hope someday to bring my soulmate home to rest.