Almost 10 Years...

Last night was a rough night. Hubby and I had a touchy evening which turned into him not being able to fall asleep and getting up to watch TV around eleven. As soon as I heard the TV come on in the other room, he called for me to get up. Reluctantly, I did, tugging on my robe and staggering my sleepy behind into the living room. There, on the screen, were video images of Osama Bin Laden with voice over being done by both Martha Raddatz and George Stepho-greek-polis. At the very bottom of the screen it read in bold letters- 5/1/2011- Osama Bin Laden DEAD.

It took time to register. For my brain to click in all the right spots, for the tumblers of memory to get in line and unlock ten years of pent up emotion. Emotion only felt on the anniversary of September 11th- by my personal choice. But when they did, when everything fell in line and the lock opened- so did the flood gates. I cried. I wept. I sobbed like a small child, curled up in a raw ball of human emotion and pain.

This September would be ten years. The last time, I vowed, that I would set aside that one day a year to feel it, to go back through all of the pictures, watched the DVD of news footage, to allow myself to grieve for the girl I was before that horrible morning I went through in Washington DC. I was going to buy a bottle of Jim Beam (my drink of sustenance during my three day stay in Alexandria) and a carton of Winston cigarettes (the amount I smoked in less then 36 hours post personal apocalypse) and let myself feel it all for the last time this September. I planned on dragging out my journal from that day and the three that followed, stare at my airline ticket with the faded ink displaying my second leg destination of DC Reagan National Airport... This year, would be the last year I would mourn the innocent girl I was that morning before flying out of Jacksonville, NC and the terrified woman who was running on adrenaline and survival mode that night and since then. That same woman I am today that still hates flawless blue skies and can smell the smoke of the Pentagon fires on a moments notice.

Last night, there in my living room, while wearing a bath robe and scar-sly anything else- that innocent woman inside of me got justice. And the woman I still am today wept in pain and happiness and revenge. Tears coated my face in moisture and I stared at the TV, not knowing how to feel. I was happy. I was sad. I felt lost at the nagging hole of hatred in my body quickly filling in as details of the evil bastard's demise played out on national television. How a special ops team (later found out to be Navy Seals delivered by Hi-Lo insertion from Chinook Helicopters) stormed the compound, put two bullets in his head, dragged his body out and flew away into the night before the sonofabitch's in Pakistan knew what hit them. Who the fuck do they think they are hiding him from us for so long? You fuckers will get your comeuppance- I assure you!

Ten years living with a hatred in your soul, a hatred I'd only let myself feel one day a year... I lost part of myself as I listened to details of OBL's death. I lost the comfort that deep black hole in my soul had been giving me. The tattoo on my right forearm itched like crazy and I almost rubbed the skin raw as we watched President Obama make the announcement official. I closed my eyes and felt every minute of that day- trying to figure out when exactly I changed from the innocent blonde Marine Corps wife on her way home for a couple weeks into the darker, twisted, woman that dyed her hair black the day after she finally got home and hasn't been the same since. When did who I was fall away into who I am because of this evil sonofabitch that ripped my innocence from me and thousands of others on September 11th? Somewhere inside of me, the ghost of who I was, brimming with tears, smiled and faded away forever.

We will never be the same. Our country, our people as a whole, will never, ever be like we were before that day happened 10 years ago. As crowds collected at Ground Zero, the Pentagon, the White House, and in Times Square- I went back to bed. Laying my head down and closing my eyes- feeling the hole inside of me finish filling in, knowing that when I woke up today things would be different. The world would be different.

Burial at sea isn't justice served for us. A public display of the asshole's body so we can do to him all those horrible things we prayed we could to do him- that would have been the pinnacle of justice served.


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