You’ve seen the names on the bronze parapets at the 9/11 Memorial. Thousands of them. It’s easy to let them blur together into a singular, collective tragedy, but every single one represents a life that was just getting started or was in full bloom. Alysia Christine Burton Basmajian was one of those lives.
She wasn't just a statistic. Honestly, she was a 23-year-old mother, a wife, and a woman who had somehow balanced the impossible demands of a rigorous accounting degree with the joys and exhaustion of raising a toddler. When the first plane hit the North Tower of the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001, Alysia was at her desk at Cantor Fitzgerald. She was on the 101st floor.
Life Before the Towers
Alysia was born in Longview, Washington, but she spent the bulk of her life in Richmond, Virginia. People who knew her back at Mills Godwin High School remember her as someone who was basically the glue in her social circles. She was popular, sure, but in that way where people actually liked being around her because she was kind, not because she was "cool."
After high school, she headed to the College of William & Mary. This is where her life really started to take its adult shape. She wasn't just some student drifting through classes. She was an accounting major—one of the toughest programs at the school. While most college kids were worried about Friday night parties, Alysia was navigating life as a young mother.
She and her husband, Anthony Basmajian, actually met at William & Mary. Think about that for a second. Most of us struggle to pass a midterm; she was passing midterms while raising her daughter, Kaela Grayce. It takes a certain kind of grit to do that. Her sorority sisters in Delta Delta Delta (Tri Delta) often spoke about her sheer determination. She didn't complain. She just did the work.
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The Move to New York
After graduating in 2000, Alysia and Anthony moved to Bayonne, New Jersey. It was the classic "start of the rest of your life" moment. Anthony was working as a trader on Wall Street, and Alysia landed a job as an accountant for Cantor Fitzgerald.
If you know anything about 9/11 history, you know the name Cantor Fitzgerald. They were the firm that lost 658 employees—virtually everyone who was in the office that morning above the impact zone. Alysia was among them.
But here’s the thing people often get wrong or overlook: Alysia wasn't just "an accountant." She was an artist at heart. Her husband later shared that her real dream was to eventually open her own art studio in Manhattan. Accounting was the practical path, the way to provide for Kaela, but her soul was in the creative. It’s a bittersweet detail. We often talk about the professionals lost that day, but we forget about the painters, the dreamers, and the studio owners they were going to become.
Why the Memory of Alysia Christine Burton Basmajian Still Matters
It’s been over two decades. In 2026, the world looks nothing like it did in 2001. Yet, the story of Alysia Christine Burton Basmajian resonates because it is a story of "the hustle" before that was a trendy term.
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She represented a very specific kind of American resilience. She was a young woman who refused to let early parenthood slow down her career or her education.
Breaking Down the Misconceptions
A lot of people think of the victims as just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. While true, that framing strips away their agency. Alysia worked incredibly hard to be in that building. To her, that office on the 101st floor was the payoff for all those late nights in the William & Mary library. It was the achievement.
- She wasn't just a victim; she was a pioneer. A young mother in a high-stakes finance environment in the early 2000s faced hurdles we sometimes forget today.
- The "Accountant" Label: It's a job title, not a personality. Her friends remember her humor and her "warm smile" that could literally change the energy of a room.
- The Family Legacy: Her daughter, Kaela, was only two when it happened. The loss isn't just a point in time; it’s a living, breathing absence that continues through generations.
The Impact on William & Mary
The College of William & Mary doesn't let her memory fade. There are scholarships and memorials specifically dedicated to the alumni lost that day. Alysia is often cited as the "essence" of what their community stands for—bravery in the face of life's standard challenges, followed by an unthinkable tragedy.
Lessons We Can Actually Use
If we're going to talk about her, we should talk about what her life teaches us. It’s not just about sadness. It’s about the way she lived.
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- Dual Paths are Possible. You can be a dedicated parent and a high-achieving professional. Alysia proved that before the "work-life balance" conversation was even a thing.
- Keep the Creative Spark. Even while crunching numbers for a major global firm, she held onto her dream of an art studio. Never let your "day job" completely swallow your "soul job."
- Community Support is Vital. Her Tri Delta sisters and her family were her backbone. In a world that’s increasingly digital and isolated, her story reminds us that we need people to lean on.
What to Do Next
If you're ever in Lower Manhattan, don't just walk past the North Pool. Find her name. It’s there, inscribed in the bronze.
Take a moment to think about the art studio that never opened. Think about the toddler who grew up without her mom. But also think about the woman who was brave enough to chase a big life in the big city.
Next Steps for Honoring Her Legacy:
- Support the Voices Center for Resilience: They do incredible work supporting families of 9/11 victims and survivors of other tragedies.
- Look into William & Mary’s Alumni Memorials: They often have ways to contribute to funds that help students who embody Alysia's spirit of determination.
- Practice Active Remembrance: Research one name on the memorial every year. Don't let them stay as just bronze letters. Give them their stories back.
Alysia’s life was short—only 23 years—but the weight of it is still felt. She was a mother, a student, a wife, and a dreamer. That's a lot of life to pack into two decades.