I have spent an entire lifetime listening to endless accounts of the horrid atrocities committed against the Cuban people by a small group of vile thugs led by a megalomaniacal killer. I have heard time and time again the story of my parent's and sibling's harrowing escape from the tyranny that took over their homeland. I listened to the tales of the harassment and humiliation my grandparents endured as they waited for their place in one of the many freedom flights leaving Havana. And it was not until I became an adult that I was able to fully understand the horrors and suffering my uncle René endured as a prisoner in La Cabaña and later, Taco Taco.

One would imagine that after spending a lifetime listening to these stories of pain, suffering, and death, I would be not so much desensitized but accustomed to these tales. But I must admit that I was not emotionally prepared for the death of Orlando Zapata Tamayo. The news of his assassination hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks. Even today, two weeks later, Orlando's murder is still affecting me in ways I never could have imagined. This is not to say that I expected to deal with his tragic death with aplomb, but I did think I would be better prepared to deal with the news.

A martyr's death carries with it not only the pain of an individual's death, but also the pain endured by the multitudes they sacrificed their life for. The death of a martyr symbolizes both a heroic act by an individual, and the suffering of their people. No matter how many tales one listens to of agony endured, and no matter how many martyrs give their lives for freedom, I can never get used to it.

As more brave and heroic Cubans take up the cause of freedom and put their lives on the line, I know that each and every one of their sacrifices will hit me just as hard as the last. It is amazing how something so painful to observe can make me so proud of my Cuban brothers and sisters.