There's no way that you're in front of the computer reading this and have not heard about the death of Osama Bin Laden by now. Tonight comes with such mixed emotions. Believe me when I tell you that sadness is not one of them. I'm happy. I'm relieved. I'm empowered. I have a level of closure. I'm also upset as a flood of memories, images, and hurt engulf me as a result of one man's actions.
We can talk about what this means in terms of retaliation and political maneuvering. We can talk about the president's speech. We can talk about the length of time it took to accomplish this. We can talk about what the future holds for our military. I don't want to talk about any of that. Not now. I'm busy basking in the glory of all of this. Our country needed this.
I'm a good person and I'm not a fan of death whenever possible. I don't wish death on our enemies (unless we're standing toe to toe and it's me or them). Look at how they live. They are uninformed. They are brainwashed. They are doing what they believe is right for their people. I wish we could all just do our own thing, but that's not a possibility. Most of them have families like our military folks. That man, however, is the one person on Earth that I have wished death upon for nearly ten years.
My viewpoint aside, the timing of this in my life is remarkable. As everyone of my readers knows by now, I spent my life growing up, working, and playing in and around New York City. It's my backyard. It's where I feel most comfortable. My recent blog posts spoke about working there and that pen that was given to me. I spoke of how it went missing. Then I recounted the tale of finding it.
For months it was missing. During the hunt, I stumbled on a newspaper of an article that was done on me as a 9/11 survivor currently serving in the military, with the pen in plain sight. Then it was found within 30 minutes. That was Thursday. It is now Sunday night and we got the news that Osama Bin Laden has been killed.
I could have found the pen the week after it went missing, but I didn't. Maybe I wasn't supposed to. The pen that represents my past, present and future - who I was, who I am, and who I will become again - just happened to be found this last week, after being spotted in a 9/11 related article and right before we killed the evil responsible for the twists and turns of my life.
Is it a message? It could be. It seems likely that is. Life, or God, or the universe, or fate wanted my story to be told to me again. I needed to be reminded of where I came from. The reminder steeled my resolve to return there. But there was something missing. The place I was going home to was the same place I left behind. The same hurt was there. The same memories haunted those streets. Tonight, that chapter has been closed.
I was given a highlight reel of the events surrounding this situation. It almost seems as if I wanted to go home but couldn't and now I can. All the memories needed to be at the forefront in one week long assault on my emotions. Every tear that I shed this week was bittersweet, including those from tonight. I'm happy at the news, but upset due to how it has impacted my life. I am no longer tormented by it. I no longer wait with bated breath for the end. I can finally say, "it's over." Justice has been served.
The timing is uncanny and, frankly, freaks me out a little bit. How can so many things, interlaced so tightly, wrap up at the same time? The damage and heartache have not been undone tonight. Some wounds will never fully heal. However, the victory that was achieved by our country is a major step in finding a much needed inner peace and the memory of who I was, the finding of my pen, and the death of my enemy all at once tell me that it's time to truly move on, if for the first time.
If nothing else, I feel just a tiny bit more intact than I have in nearly a decade.
**This is not well written. It's not witty, it's not truly profound. It does not have the usual flow or flair for the dramatic. My mind is all over and my emotions are far from being controlled. It is what it is.**