Changed by 9/11: Stacey Sweet, TV Reporter

I am lucky and thankful to be here. And I owe it all to the owner of Cedarhurst Café. He burned my English muffin that morning. I missed my usual train. And I arrived in New York City a few minutes later than usual that day.

At that time, I was the senior correspondent and weekend host of the syndicated television show Inside Edition. I was walking to my office on 57th street. I had just emerged from the subway on what began as a beautiful sun lit morning when the cell phone calls started coming in — the first plane had hit the tower.

Had I been on time, my crew and I would have been right there — just as the towers fell.   Knowing how I would cover a breaking news story, I wonder if I would have stayed behind to get the very last shot — to tell the story — or would I have run away fast enough?

In 20 years of covering stories far and wide, 9/11 is the one that changed everything.

It was surreal. It was unreal. It was unimaginable. It was terrifying, and it still is. From New York to DC to Shanksville, Pa. — the images of that day are seared into our memories forever. But it was the aftermath in the hours and the days following the attacks — these are the images that haunt me, even today.

In the aftermath…the reality and the finality of it all set in.

I remember the sounds: the non-stop, high-pitched scream of sirens for days and weeks on end. The sound echoing the cries and grief we felt as a nation. With each sound, more anxiety — was there more horror to come? What next?

I remember the sights…pure devastation. A desolate, desperate city enveloped in fear and uncertainty. Downtown, it looked like a war zone.

Well beyond “the pile,” buildings and cars, even fire trucks and stores lay frozen in time…crushed and buried in the debris. The little things that lay on the ground told the story…shoes, briefcases, all left behind by people in the race for their lives.

And I remember the smell… a heavy, putrid, acrid smell of ash that you couldn’t escape.  Was it the smell of death?  For years after the attacks, it was the first thing I smelled every morning when I walked out the door  — even when the odor was no longer there.

And there was that thick dark dust in the air that blocked out the sun — like night had permanently fallen on us.

More than anything, I remember the faces of desperate families searching for their loved ones. Pictures in one hand, lists of hospitals and morgues in the other.  At every corner, people would stop and plead: “Have you seen my wife, my husband, my daughter, my son…”

I think about the “what ifs.” I’m sure we all do. I think about all that was lost on that terrible day.

I think about the brave men and women who ran as fast as they could…in the other direction to help. And those that never had a chance to run.