The Drawers Never Stay Closed: 9/11 — Michael Morse

September 11, 2026/Michael Morse

by Michael Morse, commentary, contributing writer

I call them compartments; little drawers in my brain where I store things because allowing everything I experienced during my time as a firefighter to have a front row seat to the drama that unfolds as my life progresses is simply impossible. Some of those drawers come with easy glide hardware, some are a little sticky from the infrequency of motion and some are shut tight. Then there are the ones I locked, and threw away the key.

Of course there are also the drawers that refuse to stay closed. Those are the ones I fear most. They are the ones that open unexpectedly, and smash against my head with enough force to cripple me. I tried and failed to lock them tight but always knew it was futile, because I can never forget. And I don’t want to. A little suffering is the least I can to to remember all that was lost that day.

So now, here we are, the twenty-fifth anniversary of 9-11. A lot of compartments will open, a lot of emotion will manifest – rage, helplessness, fury, sadness and despair top my list. I cannot escape it, so I embrace it, and allow myself the luxury of unbridled feeling.

I watch the replays, and read about the lives of the victims, and empathize with the survivors. I spend however long it takes ruminating on the events that transpired on that day, and watch the people who jumped to their deaths to escape the inferno behind them, and dwell on the expressions on the faces of the firefighters whose images were captured moments before they were crushed. I’ll watch a documentary or two, and suffer in silence as I’m transported back in time, and I’ll bleed a little, and sit paralyzed by wave after wave of soul crushing fury, then grief, anger, disillusionment and finally acceptance.

It takes a day or two, but the drawers on the compartments in my mind that hold the horror will start to close, and the ones that let me live my life in peace will open in their place, and I’m able to get through this difficult existence without the weight of a different time and an unforgettable nightmare crushing me.

Only part of me died on 9-11 twenty-five years ago; the rest of me is alive and kicking. To honor those that lost everything, either on that day or from the poison willingly and heroically breathed in on the days and months that followed, the rest of me carries on.

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