Today’s horror in Ottawa reminds me of my newswriting days.

For me, it’s difficult during awful times like this not to reflect back on those newswriting days (2001-2005) where I would often walk into the newsroom at Citytv in Toronto amid the chaos of a breaking news story. Today that newsroom, and all other newsrooms across the country, are clamouring to cover the atrocity.

I remember the feeling of being brought instantly to full alert upon learning the initial details of a breaking news story. At first the facts are few and tersely worded: (for example) Gunshots in (name of city and neighbourhood); two officers reportedly hit.

When big news breaks, events in the ensuing half day unfold very quickly, although never quickly enough if you’re at the news desk and in charge of updating a large audience, whether it’s via TV, radio or the web.

If you’re a grizzled news veteran, you keep working in order to get the story out with as many facts and as much context as possible. You’re constantly watching the news wires for incoming updates and changes to details (i.e. the girl who was shot was 17, not 18) and listening for word around the newsroom about other developments. Someone is always on the phone and may shout out breaking details at any time.

I remember sitting at my desk across the room from the TV people. I was part of the online team of four journalists who worked largely alone and toiled diligently to keep up with the details of what was happening on the TV end of things. They were the hub of activity and we had to keep a close eye and closer ear on what they were doing or saying, because they didn’t always have time to come over and tell us personally what was going on.

Often I was alone at my workstation, handling the entire online operation, because digital news was still in its infancy in the early 2000s. Sometimes I didn’t mind because I wear my heart on my sleeve and often couldn’t help but react to horrible news with a tear, which I quickly wiped away because there was no time for tears. Also, there’s no crying in news.

As I was writing the above paragraphs, I learned that the solder who was shot at the National War Memorial had died. I bowed my head briefly and felt a rush of anger and sadness, and a tear flowing down my cheek. The Canadian Forces reservist, Cpl. Nathan Cirillo, was from Hamilton, my hometown.

All day long, as I try in vain to work here at home, I have my TV on and my fingers constantly hitting my Facebook tab on my web browser. Though I’m not in news any more, I’m still a news devotee and, more importantly, I’m human and I empathize.

As I posted on Facebook a few hours ago, “I’m horrified, troubled, angered and saddened, but not surprised.” I know I was only in the business of news broadcasting for four years, but that was enough time to teach me that these kinds of things can and do happen, and will happen again.

I understand that dire realization isn’t reassuring and doesn’t help anyone. So I’ll defer to the wisdom of a former colleague at CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Corporation) who imparted the following on Facebook: “We’ve had our share of [these attacks] throughout our history — Thomas D’Arcy McGee’s assassination jumps to mind — but we’re still here. I’m proud of the smart, compassionate, stubborn country that we’ve all built and refuse to accept the rhetoric that it will now be “changed forever.” We will stop and reflect on what’s happened, then continue on, being one of the greatest countries on earth.”