Last week, our country marked the 24th anniversary of the September 11, 2001 attacks, in which 2,977 civilians, emergency responders and military personnel lost their lives. While at work this past week, I overheard someone mention the Flight 93 National Memorial, and began to reflect on my own visit to this hallowed site.

Located in southwestern Pennsylvania, a couple hours outside Pittsburgh, the memorial preserves the crash site of United Airlines Flight 93. Lacking the media attention and public familiarity with Ground Zero in New York City or the Pentagon in Washington, D.C., this rural setting is often the overlooked component of the 9/11 tragedy, but honors one of the most incredible stories of American resilience, courage and determination. 

With the intended target of this Boeing 757 widely believed to be the U.S. Capitol, passengers on the plane heroically fought back to prevent the plane from reaching its intended target, with the struggle ending as the plane slammed into a defunct coal strip-mine. 

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. ~ John 1:5

Hope is being able to see that there is light, despite all the darkness. ~ Desmond Tutu

In October 2022, my wife and I were passing through Pennsylvania, on our way to Ohio from Delaware and New Jersey, marking off the final 3 states for our goal of visiting all 50 states before our 5th anniversary (Covid turned this goal into 7 years). Upon realizing the optimal route would take us near the Flight 93 memorial, we decided to add it as an afternoon stop. We’d been to other historical sites and memorials in the past, such as Pearl Harbor, various Civil War battlefields, and so forth, but were not sure what to expect since the weight of 9/11 remains so fresh compared to the events to which we have no connection. We were both school-aged kids in 2001 (autumn of 7th grade for me), and I can vividly remember watching the second plane hit the South Tower live on television at home early that morning, followed by all-day news coverage on the TVs at school. 

Ever since our 2022 visit, and even in the immediate minutes after we left, I have had a challenge putting the experience into words. To say it is a heavy and emotional place to visit is an understatement. The visual memories from over 20 years prior flooded back as we walked the interpretive exhibits, and we both felt a continual welling of tears as we tried to keep our emotions in check. The exhibits are respectful and honoring, nothing flashy or grandiose to take away from the story of the passengers and the flight, but the gravity of seeing all the faces and reading about their phone calls to loved ones broke my heart. 

In the outdoor pavilions, the immediacy of the location really hit me hard, as we walked a promenade that followed the final meters of the flight path, culminating with an unimpeded view of the crash site and the victims’ memorial in the field below. I could not help but imagine the plane screaming overhead, inverted at 563 mph, and suddenly, all the faces I had just seen smiling in photos inside took on an entirely different image, one of fear and terror, yet also bravery and resolve. 

Down in the field below, a large boulder sits at the approximate final point of impact, at the base of a hemlock grove destroyed by the subsequent conflagration of the wreckage. We slowly traversed what is called the Memorial Plaza Walkway, where a sloping black wall at the north edge of the debris field is filled with various tributes and mementos from visitors. With the impact site and boulder just beyond, I was once again overcome by solemnity and sorrow. As I stared out into the sinking early-evening golden glow of sunlight, subtle movement caught my eye in the shade around the boulder. A small herd of whitetail deer had emerged from the adjacent woods, and slowly browsed the meadow for their evening meal. 

Initially somewhat unmoved, my emotions quickly turned to an unexpected feeling of solace and peace. Wildlife in general has long had a soothing effect on me, and I’ve often felt deer hold an especially poignant elevation of tranquility and restfulness. I cannot help but pause and quietly watch them, and this instance was no exception. Deer hold a special place and meaning in many cultures and spiritual ways of life, from guides and spiritual messengers in some Indigenous cultures, to Biblical symbolism of a longing for God. To many people, they simply embody gentleness, purity and harmony.

We slowly viewed the Wall of Names, tearing up at some of the small personal memorials to each passenger, before returning our gaze to the field. By this point, the congregation of deer was over a dozen, with some laying calmly in the field, as others grazed, the sun dipping continually lower into the trees, shining rays of soft light over the scene. 

Trying to reconcile my dichotomy of emotion, I stood and watched a while longer. How could this place hold such a heavy, horrific form of darkness, yet be suddenly washed in a feeling of peace and hope? I stood mere steps from the place where 40 innocent people were stolen from their loved ones, but also a place where their bravery had culminated. 

In the moments before the passengers launched their counter-offensive, passenger Todd Beamer recited the Lord’s Prayer and the 23rd Psalm over the phone with GTE operator Lisa Jefferson, with other passengers joining in. In spite of the likely sealed fate of their own lives, these men and women chose to not let hatred, evil and death reach any others, and acted out of sheer determination to do something to prevent it. 

Their choice was one of love, light and righteousness, a choice that we can all look to for hope, encouragement and inspiration, refusing to let evil triumph. Perhaps the best way to keep their memory alive is to implement their own good will in our lives, seeking opportunities to shine light and love into tragedy and hardship, no matter how minor our actions might seem.

All photos and content © Eric S. Allan 2022-2025

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