Markets 
It’s an awkward thing to say.
But every Sept. 11, when the names of the 2,977 people killed in the terrorist attacks are read aloud at the World Trade Center site … I hear my name.
Michael J. Armstrong.
It’s a name I share, right down to the middle initial.
For more than two decades, I wondered about the other Michael Armstrong. Who was he? What was his life like? Who had he left behind?
Years ago, I came across something written by one of his sisters about the family’s efforts to keep Michael’s memory alive. They had created a foundation in his name. So, as I began putting together stories to mark 25 years since the attacks, I decided I wanted to help his family tell his story.
Even reaching out felt uncomfortable.
I knew the email would arrive in his sister’s inbox with one name attached to it: Michael Armstrong. I wondered what it would be like for her to see that name suddenly appear on her screen. And whether I had any right to ask her to open that door.
The ensuing back and forth turned into a visit to her home in Tappan, N.Y., last month.
The walls of Laura’s home are filled with family photos. Michael appears in many of them: Christmas mornings, Thanksgivings, St. Patrick’s Day celebrations, and one where he jumped on their father’s lap. He was goofing around after he as his sister Marian had bought Laura her first digital camera.
“He just had such a hearty laugh,” Laura said. “He laughed a lot.”
“He was just a warm kind of guy and he was great with kids,” Marian recalled.
Dozens of photos have been added to the walls in the 25 years since 9/11. Important events where Michael’s absence is impossible for the family to ignore.
“There are a lot of instances where we think that,” Laura said. “Where he should have been.”
Michael Armstrong was 34 years old and worked in electronic trading on Wall Street with the brokerage company Cantor Fitzgerald.
On the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, Michael was at work on the 104th floor of the North Tower of the World Trade Center, above the floors struck by American Airlines Flight 11.
Get daily National news
Get daily Canada news delivered to your inbox so you’ll never miss the day’s top stories.
After the building was hit, Michael tried to reach members of his family by telephone.
His sister Marion remembers that his final cellphone call was to their mother. The family’s copy of his phone statement showed the call lasted two minutes.
But his mother couldn’t make out his words.
All she heard was static.
The family has always hoped that while Michael couldn’t be heard, he could hear his mother’s voice.
For hours that morning, his sisters clung to possibilities.
Maybe he had been late for work. Maybe what they were hearing about the Twin Towers wasn’t as bad as it sounded. They didn’t turn on the television.
“I really thought he was going to be OK,” Laura recalled. “As crazy as it is.”
The next few weeks in Michael’s life were supposed to be special. He and his fiancée, Catherine Nolan, were set to be married on Oct. 6, 2001.
Instead, Michael’s wake was held on Sept. 23, 2001.
He almost wasn’t in the office on 9/11. He’d been at a funeral the day before and missed work. And later in the week, he was scheduled to be off again for his bachelor party.
“We often said, like, oh, you know, so many things,” Catherine recalled. “If he had only left a few days earlier, if he had a dentist appointment the next day.”
“So many days that week he would not have been there,” Marian said.
Those are the what-ifs that can follow a family for decades.
Catherine eventually married and had children. Her youngest son’s middle name is Michael. She also never really left the Armstrong family.
“I always joke that I’ve got the in-laws without the husband,” she said.
Michael’s brother is godfather to one of her children. His sisters remain part of her life. Twenty-five years later, Catherine is still Aunt Catherine to the next generation of Armstrongs.
There is a gravity to grieving — a force that focuses on the pain. The Armstrongs chose instead to help others in Michael’s name.
Within days of the attacks, they established a scholarship fund at Loyola School, where Michael had been a student and remained an active alumnus. In the months that followed, the family established the Michael J. Armstrong Memorial Foundation.
For nearly 25 years, they have held fundraising events and supported causes connected to Michael’s life, including scholarships at Loyola and athletics at Fordham University, where Michael was an enthusiastic basketball fan.
His sister describes it as a place to channel all the emotions that followed his death. It’s also ensured his story didn’t stop on Sept. 11, 2001.
The family’s effort to remember Michael now extends to people who never had the chance to meet him.
His niece, Keeley, says Michael is a normal household name in the family. He died when she was young, but it has never felt that way.
“It’s amazing how much you can know someone through stories,” Keeley said.
Those stories have given another generation a picture of an uncle they never knew: his enormous laugh, his sense of humour, his bear hugs and his habit of teasing his siblings.
But there is still sadness. The next generation of Armstrongs is now approaching the age that Michael was when he was killed.
“We’re now in that stage of life of people getting married,” Keeley said, with tears welling up. “I can’t imagine that you’re supposed to be going to a bachelor party on Thursday, and then this happens.”
But the Armstrongs also remember something else about those days: how people responded to their pain.
Catherine found herself part of a group no one would ever choose to join — women who, like her, lost their fiancées on 9/11.
They found each other in the aftermath. Twenty-five years later, they still get together every Sept. 11 for lunch.
The support came from all directions. There were countless acts of kindness the family remembers from those first days: people reaching out, showing up and trying to help.
It’s something they’ve carried forward through the foundation, the scholarships and the years spent helping others in Michael’s name.
“I can’t look back at that day without thinking about the kindness, the care everyone took with me,” Marian says. “People are so beautiful.”
Read the full article here
