Doug told me that he figured bin Laden had been offed by a random bomb or one of his own men years ago, and I always figured that was a distinct possibility as well. But it's nice to know for sure now.
Do you remember where you were when the planes hit the Twin Towers? I was at school, Spanish Springs High- and I remember the rumors around school; 'someone's bombed the Pentagon', and it was first time I had heard that word 'terrorist'. Ten years ago, my God, I was almost fifteen years old then, and my friend Jeremy would have been sixteen. Ten years. Paige and I skipped out of school early to run home and check out the news. We turned on the news just in time to see that awful clip we've all seen- the second plane hitting the towers. I didn't know what it meant, and I wondered how many more planes had been hijacked by these 'terrorists'. I remember feeling afraid- and angry. I don't know if Jeremy ever felt afraid, but I know he was angry. Two, maybe three years later Jeremy left us to join the Army, to fight for freedom and to protect us. I remember him so well. His heart was made of gold. Osama bin Laden and his Al-Qaeda killed him; they killed Jeremy in some far away place called Fallujah. I felt something in my heart die when I heard the news.
And ten years later, I heard more news. Bin Laden's dead. One of my first thoughts was about Jeremy. If Jeremy was alive he'd be about twenty-six, probably married to Melissa and have a few kids. Osama bin Laden's death will not bring Jeremy back to us; or any of the thousands of Jeremys who have died in this war. But it gave me some peace in my heart, maybe some closure or something.
He's gone, Jeremy. They killed him. We killed him. You killed him.
Thank you.
I miss you.
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