We called him Gordy, the very handsome young man dating a cousin in Boston. I hired him to help dig my garden beds for beer money, then soon after he got his dream job in New York at the tippy top of the World Trade Center.

Twenty five years ago a woman leaned over the fence where I volunteered and said ‘something terrorist has happened in New York.’ My friend and I dropped our gloves and rushed to my house a few blocks away. We stood before the TV not comprehending anything. I could not have done that half hour alone.

Later — when the kids were sent home from school, the husbands from their Boston office buildings, the moms from grocery shopping — we gathered; set up chairs outside on the street, ordered armloads of pizza, stared into the sky and felt all the emotions, just holding the news at bay for a little while under the reddening maple trees, kids laughing and chalking up the street, adults silently weeping.

Gordy called his mother after the plane hit and said not to worry, they were following emergency protocol and taking the stairs to the roof for safety.

Church bells tolled at 11am here in Marblehead today. As the chimes rolled over the town, every flag at half mast, I remember; I remember holding my friend’s hand; I remember the gather; I remember the strength I found amongst my friends and neighbors and needed when the call came in about Gordy and the hundreds of others lost that day.

Twenty-five years ago. Seems like yesterday. Gather. Feel the strength of others.

I raise a beer to Gordy tonight and remember: I need you and you need me.