At first I was elated.
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
I had long ago stopped believing that Osama bin Laden would be found, let alone killed, unless by chance. I doubted we were even looking for him.
I was captivated with curiosity. What happened? Where was it? How can they be so sure it was him?
After the President spoke, I thought of the courage of the men who carried out the mission. How their hearts must have been racing -- with fear, then fascination.
We got him! We got him!
I wanted to celebrate ... but sadness set in too quickly.
It caught me by surprise.
The wound was open again.
All the heartache of September 11th came flooding back.
The images of the victims hanging out windows, standing on ledges, waiting for help that would never come.
The interviews with those who witnessed the attacks - their shoes covered with ashes, and their faces ashen gray.
Thousands of lives lost. Tens of thousands of lives ruined.
Life goes on for friends and relatives, but always with a backdrop of pain.
Pain that pops up when you least expect it. Like on a Sunday night at 10pm. When you hear Osama Bin Laden is dead. Finally! Finally your son, daughter, mother, father, brother, sister...can rest in peace!
And you want to celebrate but instead you just cry.
Late in the evening on May 1, 1945, German radio announced Adolf Hitler was dead.
Osama bin Laden was killed on Holocaust Remembrance Day.
Is there a more clear reminder that one man's hatred can ruin tens of thousands of lives??
We must never forget.