Closure...

Two nights ago, after drowsing on the loveseat for a bit too long, I convinced myself to get up and put myself to bed properly (as opposed to a more-often-than-preferred sleeping on the loveseat in a slightly cramped position, every light in the house on, teeth unbrushed...you get the idea.  Oh the joys of bachelor living.)

Turning off the lights, I inadvertently hit the button on the tv out of reflex, which was off.  As the picture faded into view, I saw the 11:30pm headline:  OSAMA BIN LADEN DEAD.

I sat back down.

I watched the loop of OBL shaking hands, smiling, scenes of the USS Cole ... and President Obama, who arrived in the East wing with a glow of confidence and an air of "damn straight I did."  This was the president I'd been hoping for- confident and taking no shit.

I called my parents, who didn't call back, and a couple friends, who were rightfully asleep... and then went on to Facebook, where I saw a general sentiment:  celebrating the death of another human is wrong, no matter how evil.  Martin Luthor King was quoted (a beautiful quote), and others.  Meanwhile, crowds gathered in the streets near the White House that I had only recently walked myself, lending a wonderful credibility to their celebration.  I had to wonder if the pacifists on Facebook had forgiven the events of 9-11, or if they were not seeing a world view, or if the reaction about to take place in most of the world was wrong... or maybe it really is a thing worth being thankful for.

I remember 9-11 as vividly as anyone... I was unemployed, and getting my oil changed.  I heard on the shop radio that a plane had flown into one of the towers, and like everyone else we thought it was a small prop.  On the way home it was obvious it was more serious...I called home to tell mom to turn on the tv (mom was in the habit of taping the news, and she's got a set of VCR tapes hidden away somewhere of the entire day/week/month....)  The Pentagon was hit and the seriousness of the situation sunk in fast...  I watched 5 hours of live tv... Peter Jennings skillfully narrating the scene, until the first tower fell, and we didn't realize what we were watching until the cameraman zoomed out (we thought he was panning up).  Peter, like the rest of us, was stunned into silence for what seemed like a minute, until someone off camera shouted "PETER!" and brought him back to life.  I remember gasping in horror a second before it happened, as if a premonition.

Not knowing what else to do, I went to the local hardware store, where Eliza's mom (Mom-Kate) worked.  She was on the phone tracking her daughter down, and the TV was in the front of the store.  Eliza was fine and eventually made her way to Connecticut...but I wanted to talk about it.  I wanted to freak out.  And I had nobody to really freak out to other than my mom and sister, who were in a state of shock themselves.  So I did the only thing I could think of... when it seemed things were over for now, I convinced my mom to turn off the tv, and we went to Harvard Square.  Because I had to check on MY city.  I had to make sure it was ok.  Because God Forbid someone mess with my town...then they'd have me to deal with. 

It all seems rather foolish now, but that was the way it was... I'm a doer, not a sitter.

Over time the culprits announced themselves, proud as peacocks...and we attacked the right and the wrong country.  I travelled to New York 2 months later and saw the haze over the city, the police in respirators, the wall of the missing.  I dated my pictures of the city skyline taken that July 4th.  I cried as the first missiles were launched into Afghanistan because we were going to war.  And I have brothers.  Stephen had just turned 18.  Brendan was 22.

That was 10 years ago.  It seems like last week.

So when Osama Bin Laden was killed by US forces recently, using one of his wives as a human shield, I had to stop and stare.  After so much change, it feels like the closing of a chapter.  Everything after this is under a different context.  A sequel.  Listening to the families taken back to that day, they said it was strange to be thankful for the death of another human being...but they were.  Some felt relieved they didn't have to live through a trial.  Others felt robbed.  But even though it couldn't bring back their lost loved ones, all were thankful he was gone, and couldn't himself lead another mission of hatred. 

My dad asked me if I would have been one of the people celebrating in the streets.  I said I'd definitely be out there, because it's a unifying event.  Would I be shouting?  Maybe... It's more a feeling of closure than anything, a thing we all went through as a nation and can all reflect on in unison.  9-11 brought the country and the world together in a way it hasn't been since WWII.  For once, the bickering was silenced, and we mourned as one, focused on a common enemy, a common loss.  This week we achieved a closure I wasn't sure we'd ever get.  I don't really think I'm glad another person is dead...maybe time does heal all wounds...but I do feel he probably had to die for the sake of world safety.  That sentiment makes me uncomfortable, but maybe in select cases it's true.  This is not to say I hope he rots in hell...  That's God's choice, and I'm thankful it's not mine.  But I am glad he's out of the equation, because in my opinion he's done enough damage for one lifetime.

May he rest in pieces.