'Dear Dad': Son Of Hero Firefighter Remembers His Father On 9/11

WESTHAMPTON, NY — Andrew Jordan was only in fourth grade when his father Andrew Jordan Sr., a member of FDNY Engine 280, Ladder 132, died a hero on 9/11.

But although 24 years have passed — a veritable lifetime for Andrew and his siblings — on September 11, and always, the memories are just a heartbeat away.

Speaking with Patch this week, Andrew reflected on what he would say, if he could write a letter to his father.

"If I could write a letter to my dad, I would first, say, 'Dear Dad, Thank you for looking over all of us over the last 24 years," he said. "I would thank him for his service on 9/11. I could only imagine what was going through his head when he went to the World Trade Center, but he had to do what he had to do — and that was to save as many people he could."

Still, he said: "I know it was very difficult for him."

And, Andrew said, he would share the details of his life, of his family — all the chapters of a rich life that's unfolded, with his father's love the very foundation, one that's never wavered.

"I would tell him about my life and about my wife, in-laws, friends and how special my life is — and how special it is for me that he gets to be with me every day," Andrew said. "I would tell him that my mom and my siblings love him more than words could even describe."

And, while 24 years have passed, the pain is eternal, he said. "It is unbelievable that we are 24 years since September 11, but these anniversaries are still unbelievably tough. But I love my dad more and more every year. I am so lucky that I got to know my dad — and I am even luckier that I know he is always with me."

Andrew's brother Sean Jordan will turn 24 on Sept. 26, 2021. He was born 15 days after his father died.

In past years, Sean, his mother Lisa, and brother Andrew — the family now has a home in Westhampton but lived in Remsenburg on 9/11 —shared their hearts and memories about the day that changed their lives forever.

Lisa, ready to give birth to her fourth child in 2001, said her husband wasn't supposed to work that day; he'd traded shifts, banking up hours to spend with his family when the baby was born. He had just finished a 24-hour shift and had come home, taken a nap, then was ready to head out again.

"I remember the night I got the phone call that my husband was missing. It was nighttime on September 12, 12:20 a.m. The phone rang and I thought it was him calling and I said, 'Oh, thank God,' and I got up to answer it. They told me that they wanted me to know that my husband was missing. I said, 'What do you mean?' I couldn't understand it."

Her husband worked in Brooklyn, Lisa said; she couldn't fathom at first why he would have been in Manhattan — and believed that he would be found. She had called her mother, who lived in Queens, telling her to leave the door open for him, since he'd probably stay over at her house rather than travel back to the East End.

Her mother was crying, she said. But Lisa was holding on tightly to hope.

The next morning, she said, she woke her kids. "I told them, 'Daddy's missing, but he's okay. Get your backpacks.'" She remembers walking around the table, grabbing papers, and throwing them in the children's backpacks. "They probably went to school with coloring books," she said.

As the days passed, there was no word. Lisa was scheduled to give birth to Sean on Sept. 21. "I told the doctor, 'I want to wait.'" The doctor gave her until October 1; she scheduled the birth for Sept. 26 since her husband's birthday was January 26, she said. "Scheduling it for the 26th still gave me some time."

But after that phone call, Lisa said: "I always say it went from a nightmare to a bad dream."

Every day was the same day, she said. Lisa called a number for the Red Cross every hour, waiting for news. "But there was nothing. Still, I was hopeful that maybe the next hour, I'd hear something. That was how it was for days on end."

An endless stream of people stopped by their home, crying. "I thought, 'Why are they all upset? We're going to find him.'"

Before she left for the hospital to give birth, Lisa sat down with her small children; her oldest, Andrew, was in fourth grade and Matthew and Kelsey were even younger.

"If, God forbid, a phone call came and it was bad news, I didn't want them to hear it from anyone but me," she said.

Lisa spoke to the psychologist at the Remsenburg-Speonk Elementary School, where Andrew was enrolled. "She gave me a book about a leaf," Lisa said, her voice filled with tears. "I told them, 'Daddy's probably not going to come back.'"

Her thoughts were whirling, Lisa said: "I would think, 'Okay, Andrew has soccer practice.' Then I'd think, 'Who's going to walk Kelsey down the aisle when she gets married?"

Suddenly, she had to plan a memorial, "all of those things you never think you'll have to think about."

Her husband's memorial at Pikes Beach, their grief, were all very public, not private, Lisa said. "It was always on the news, it was everywhere. The first Thanksgiving, the first Christmas."

Of her 9/11 baby, Sean, Lisa said she is filled with pride. "He's a scrapper. He definitely stands up for himself — and anyone else who needs it."

Speaking with Patch in a past interview, Sean reflected on life as a 9/11 baby, he grew up without a father figure, he said.

The smallest things are filled with sadness, Sean said. "A friend saying, 'My dad this,' or 'My dad that.' It's kind of like everyone had a head start and I'm just catching up. I'm still learning lessons now that I would have learned 10 years ago if I'd had a dad."

He added that everyone else in his family was able to meet his father. "I was the only one who wasn't able to. I only know my dad through stories and pictures. I'm still learning who my dad was."

That's why Sean said he cherishes trips to his father's firehouse on 9/11, where his dad's colleagues share stories and rich memories. "I love who my dad is, especially through those stories," Sean said. "I can't wait to meet him someday."

Andrew added that while it's surreal that 24 years have passed, he remembers everything about 9/11, the day the world went dark.

Andrew remembers his father's memorial service on the beach and the fire trucks that picked them up from their house. So many people turned out to honor him, Andrew said. "It was wonderful to see all those people," he said.

Reflecting on his father, Andrew recalls trips to Hershey Park, and to Cooperstown, a few weeks before 9/11. "He was my Little League coach and was always there to see my games."

Andrew said his father visited his classroom in full uniform, showing his classmates his helmet and letting them try on his boots — those boots are still kept in his father's locker at his firehouse, just where they had always been.

Andrew also remembers the little things that meant everything, days spent at the beach and in the pool. "He was an amazing person," he said. "The example he set was very powerful."

If dreams were reality and he could see his father just one more time, Andrew said he'd hug him. "I miss him."