A hero died. I was born.

I wasn’t there. I didn’t see the planes crash into the towers. I didn’t see my dad run into the second tower to save people. 

My dad Alfonse Joseph Niedermeyer III worked as a Port Authority police officer in the Commercial Vehicle Inspection Unit. He died on Sept. 11, 2001. 

He called my mom to tell her where he was going and said I love you. 

My mom found out she was pregnant a month later. 

I was born in May. 

My mom and I.

Every year, I panic to relive the learned PTSD of my father’s internationally covered passing– the recurring memorial services at his shared grave with thousands of others, the news clips replaying from that day, and the pillars of light booming into the sky. 

Dad's name on the 9/11 Memorial.

I never met him, and everything I know is from what people have told me. What I have is facts and stories that I have memorized. 

I heard about his life before from my mom and my aunt— how he was a big, loud, funny police officer from Bayside, Queens, and how he was planning to go to Disney with my 2-year-old brother (now 27) at the end of September. 

My family (my mom, brother and dad) at the beach.

My dad was a sixteen-year veteran of the Port Authority.

Alfonse Joseph Niedermeyer II, his dad and my grandpa, was a retired Port Authority operations supervisor.

My dad was the recipient of a special citation for rescuing passengers from US Air Flight 405 when it skidded off a runway at LaGuardia Airport, according to Police Heroes, a book by Chuck Whitlock.

His former coworker, the late retired Port Authority Officer Robert Fischer (my Uncle Bobby), called him “a born rescuer,” reported the New York Times.

He was forty years old when he died. I learned about his nickname “Big Al” and why he and my mom moved to the Jersey Shore.

Dad at the beach.

The beach is where I see him the most. Pictures of him fishing in balloon pants and a bandana. He took my mom here for a reason. So, I stayed in the place where he loved. 

I try to make the things people have told me my own. Apparently a huge fan of Bruce Springsteen, my dad’s favorite song was “Born to Run.” 

On Aug. 28, Springsteen showed up at The Bleachers concert at The Stone Pony Summer Stage, and I cried. 

I know he must have loved Asbury Park because there’s a photo of the carousel framed in my childhood home. 

Although I never met him, I try to get to know him every day because there’s more to a person than how they died. A list of facts doesn't make a relationship between a father and daughter. 

A hero died and then I was born into a post 9/11 world. A world full of polarity and war and anxiety and depression. 

With all the added stress of going to college during the COVID-19 pandemic to then finding jobs in an AI saturated simulation where the earth is burning, I think I just want to stay in bed. 

But, I write. I have published pieces on 9/11 in college and have been interviewed by NPR’s Melissa Block on All Things Considered for the 20th anniversary. 

I keep writing, even though it means having two jobs, because it also means connecting with people and learning about the world. 

After I was already published in college newspapers, I learned that my dad was a communications major. 

He graduated from the University of Dayton, Ohio, in 1983 and in 2000 earned an M.A.E. from Seton Hall University. 

He studied journalism. I received my Bachelor’s degree in communication and had a concentration in journalism. 

That changed everything. I have to go follow my dream because it was once his dream. 

So, today, I am 24 years old, but it is the 25th anniversary. It doesn’t mean what it meant to the people who were there that day; it means something different every year as I grow up. 

That’s what loss is. Ask anyone who has dealt with grief. It’s a rollercoaster at your worst moments. It can be a pool of tears, or a feeling of connection. Sometimes I don’t want to put it all on one day like I used to. I can’t keep doing the same thing either. So, every year is different. 

Last year, my dad’s mom, my grandma, had a stroke on 9/11. She passed away a month later. The matriarch of my family held us together, and I feel like it’s now on my mom, my aunt, and his brothers to remind our family what he did.

I volunteer at Common Ground Grief Center in Manasquan, and I try to be a support system to children who have also lost a parent. It makes me feel useful. 

I keep in contact with the people I met at Camp Better Days, a camp for family members who lost someone that day. I started going when I was 4 years old and went until 2018, when they stopped the camp. The friends I made there are family. They understand, and we grew up together. 

My longtime friend Laurel from camp was featured in a Netflix documentary.

I was in a part of it with her, going through photos. We cried together for the whole world to see. 

I value connecting with people because that’s all we have. 

So, hug your friends and family and tell them you love them. Learn about the heroes and get to know the people who make an impact in your life. 

Angelica Joy Niedermeyer