Freedom is precious. As I start the typing of this post shortly after 6 am my local Great Horned Owls are serenading me with their hoots through the pre-dawn darkness. Their hoots are calming as I reflect back on this 25th anniversary of the 911 attacks. While this horrible event was (and still is) tragic for all Americans, for me the day was more personal than for many of my fellow citizens. My first cousin, also named “Richard” was killed in the attacks. He was a financial supervisor for AON Corporation and his place of employment was high up the 2nd World Trade Center Tower.

After watching the attack on the 1st World Trade Center Tower and then experiencing the attack on the 2nd tower, “Richard Fraser” took his team of employees and started to descend the stairwell. The group had well over 70 floors to descend. One of his team members was pregnant and getting close to her delivery data. This woman became tired during the descent, My cousin told his team to continue their descent and he would remain behind with his pregnant employee such that she might rest for a few minutes. Richard’s team made it out of the 2nd World Trade Center safely, while he and his pregnant co-worker were killed when the building collapsed.

I consider my cousin, Richard, a hero. He understood you did not leave people in need behind. He died because of his convictions. Thankfully he was able to use his mobile phone and call both his wife and mom (my Aunt) from his office before the group started their walk down the stairwell.

MY story now takes another twist. My own Mom, who was in the early stages of dementia and Alzheimer’s kept hearing how a family member, Richard, had been killed in the 911 attacks. In her muddled mind, she did not understand it was my cousin who had died, but rather she thought it was me, also named Richard, who had perished. My Mom became extremely quiet and would not talk for hours. Eventually my Dad figured out the problem as to why my Mom was so quiet. She thought her son, me, was dead. At the time I was working and living in the Minneapolis area. My Dad phoned me and said I needed to drive home, the 175 miles north to Duluth immediately, and visit my Mom. She needed to understand that her son, Richard, was still alive. Not surprisingly within minutes I was in my car and driving north.

Freedom in Precious!

In Memorian: Richard K. Fraser (killed in the 911 Attacks)