Twenty years ago today, I was in Lower Manhattan using a bulky desktop computer, the phone was the key to all communication, with email coming in a close second.

I had a pager and a one of those new cellphones which wasn’t “smart” yet. I was new to my job and eager - eager to learn, climb the ladder and be part of everything NYC.

Change. We hear that word daily in work and in life in general. Evolve is the new buzz word. Transformation, another. Over the years we have embraced change, heck even the language we use changed - but deep down, it still is the same. Some things are staples, the foundation on which other things are built. We can try to change it, but the truth is, doing so will cause everything on top to become unstable.

Twenty years ago, on Sept 11, I commuted into the World Trade Center to start my Tuesday. Like any other Tuesday, I would be at work by 8:40ish, read my email and start manning the phones.

But, unlike any other Tuesday this was a stunningly beautiful morning. The kind you absorb a bit more of before you hide behind the walls of your employer.

It was also a Tuesday that was a bit slower because the New York Giants kept most up the night before during a Monday night football game. My building has cameras everywhere, inside and out, and with cameras come TVs. My seat was in the “command center” where TVs showed the state of hundreds of servers that keeps America’s economy humming. One of the TVs had news.

On any other Tuesday we would see market updates etc. but this soon became a Tuesday no one would forget. A plane flew into the World Trade Center? What? I was just there, I didn’t see that.

No, it just happened right now. What? A bunch of people run to the 12th floor cafeteria where there was a clear view of the trade center. There it was - burning. You could hear the fire and police departments racing up Maiden Lane.

People on the street are staring up in disbelief.

Going back to my desk I met a young woman in the hall and she was hysterical. I asked, “What’s wrong,” and she said she saw people jumping out of the building. She was inconsolable, but I hugged her and tried to offer comfort. In returning back to the command center we felt a shake. While we didn’t know it at that moment, a second plane had hit.

In 2001 I smoked. Well, this was it - I needed a smoke. So, out I go to the street to stand with all my smoker friends. Our police force, who normally is smiling and greeting employees as we march into work was standing in full gear, armed and ready.

Police and fire were tearing up every street in Manhattan. Papers floated through the air; it was snowing paper. Paper that was once on someone’s desk was now floating 80 stories in the air, fluttering to the streets.

We are summoned inside where I go back to the eighth floor and hear my phone ringing.

“Kim speaking.”

“Kim it’s Daddy, you need to get out of there, we are under attack.”

“I can’t, Daddy, they closed the bridges and tunnels.

“I love you, Daddy, tell Mommy I love her too.”

“I love you too and you tell her when you see her.”

Strobe lights start flashing, sirens are sounding and then our building shakes. Not like the first shake, this one was prolonged and debris was pounding the windows while smoke was seeping in. The first building fell. We are taken to the center of our building away from any windows and there we sat.

Quiet. Crying. Praying. Scared.

Twenty years later I sit in Dallas, Texas, typing this on a small laptop near a phone that connects to the world. My desk phone I no longer use, we have video calls now. Change. Evolution. Transformation.

Twenty years later I sit remembering my father’s call and his words, his voice. I haven’t heard either in 15 years. Many of the colleagues I shared that day with have retired, some have passed, and some are still here. Change.

On Sept. 12 people were united. I saw hundreds of signs on the West Side Highway showing love and support. Thousands of candles were lit. Flags were everywhere.

Firefighters and police officers drove across the country to help in recovery efforts.

That, too, has changed but I believe in my heart the foundation on which we were built remains and we will get back to there - we will rebuild.

Kimberlee Delany is a Nesquehoning native and daughter of longtime Times News journalist Al Sword. She is a 1985 graduate of Panther Valley High School, who has relocated to Flower Mound, Texas.