There are two days in the thirty-three years I shared with my partner, Jody Settle, that filled me with fear: September 11, 2001, and the day, in April 2020, as I watched him taken away in an ambulance struggling with COVID-19. Both times, I worried that I would never see Jody again.

This week the eyes and hearts of residents of New York City and the world turn their thoughts to the commemoration of the terrorist attacks that destroyed the World Trade Center twenty-five years ago.

I had left NYC early that beautiful morning headed to Massachusetts for a family funeral. As I walked into my mother’s house, the image of the second plane crashing into the South Tower splashed across the television screen. I froze, worried about Jody’s safety. I pulled out my cellphone and tried to call him, but there was no signal. This was the start of a day of worry.

We left for the funeral. Antsy and anguished, I continued to try to reach Jody, but cellphone service was reported out in the NYC area. I finally called his mother in Texas and asked her to keep trying to reach him on our landline. “Tell him I love him and to please stay home and be safe. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Sadly, my mind could not focus on the funeral rite. I just wanted to leave and head home. The service ended and everyone wanted to me to go to brunch with them. For me, it wasn’t time for brunch. “No, I’m going home.”

I got into my car and left for home. I kept trying to call Jody, but was always unsuccessful. The trip was surreal. I only remember seeing a handful of cars on the highway. Traffic was not permitted to enter Manhattan. Luckily, I found street parking in the Riverdale section of the Bronx and started to walk the three or four miles home.

As I walked, I kept trying to call Jody. About ten blocks from home, I finally got a connection. We were both relieved and began weeping aloud. At last, I reached home and we embraced and just held each other for the longest time. He had received the message I sent via his mother. Our neighbors had looked in on him to make sure he was safe and not alone.

In subsequent years, as the World Trade Center area was rebuilt, a memorial was created honoring the 2,753 people who died there — a fit tribute to them and the first responders who fought valiantly to save them and have suffered consequences in the years since.

As someone who lost a loved one to COVID-19, I often wonder when a memorial for the more than 46,000 New York City residents who died during the pandemic will be built. The grief and pain of loss experienced by their families and friends needs to be recognized in a collective manner in the same way that the victims of September 11, 2001, are remembered.

I have only visited the WTC memorial once in the past 25 years dragged along by visitors who wanted to view the memorial. Inside the museum, there is something called the “blue wall” designed by Spencer Finch. It consists of blue tiles of various hues, one for each of the victims of that day. Embedded in that wall is a quotation from the Roman poet, Virgil, which reads “No day shall erase you from the memory of time.” That too seems an appropriate statement for all those lost to COVID-19.