On the Boston Marathon Bombing

Today, I woke up.  I got dressed, packed my bags, and headed to work.

Today, people woke up.  They got dressed, packed their bags, and headed to the Boston Marathon.

This evening, I lie in bed, think about what homework I have due tomorrow.

This evening, people lie motionless, thinking about nothing.

This evening, people lie in pain, missing limbs and suffering head injuries.

This evening, people lie in bed, or sit in hospitals, clutching at their hair and crying and praying and hoping that their loved ones will recover.

What happened today in Boston is unfair.  The people who are now suffering or no longer suffering probably had mornings similar to mine, yet they paid a price I was never charged.  I am struck by the cruelty that has descended in a place I consider part of my home.

I first heard about the bombing when a Facebook friend and former supervisor posted that she was praying and thinking of Boston.  I Googled Boston and clicked the "news" tab.  There were stories about the Marathon and I wondered if my former supervisor had friends who were running today.  Still, her status was too serious -- too intense -- to just be about a marathon.  So I refreshed the page and did a little more digging.  I then saw the news about the bomb.  This was at approximately 3:20.

I called my mom, asked her if she had heard the news.  She had not.  I heard her ask my dad if he was watching the news on the Boston Marathon.  They changed the television station and we hung up quickly so she could pay attention to the news.  I found a feed on the WCVB website and clicked back to it frequently while working on a religion paper about equality.  I started clicking around and refreshing Tumblr, Twitter, and Facebook.  I was grateful for the number of social media outlets that kept me as up-to-date as possible. Someone posted a picture-quote of Fred Rogers that read, "When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.' "  I reposted it.

I called my mom again to see if she had heard from my cousin, who attends school in Boston.  She had not.  I texted my cousin and waited while panicking.  She texted me back.  She was safe.  The city was in lock down.  She told me she loved me.  I said the same.

I called my mom a third time to tell her about my cousin.  She had been talking to my aunt.  She was crying when she answered the phone.  I learned that my cousin had been on the way to visit a shop between where the two bombs went off, but she got hungry, so she got something to eat first.  It saved her life.

Already there has been a lot written and art-ed about this sad, horrible event.  Throughout the evening, I have cried off and on, but done my best to stop myself.  By crying, I let them win.  I won't let them win.  I will remember that, given the amount of people packed into that space, that three people died is tragic but also something of a miracle.  That one-hundred-forty (plus) people were injured is tragic -- yet they live.  Although some of them have required amputations, they will go on living and they will be strong, living for those who did not get the chance.  I believe in their strength.

I will also not forget that the United States is not the only country experiencing death and violence today.  Dozens of countries experience this kind of horror every day.  Still, that does not make today any less sorrowful for Americans.

Despite today, I will remember that humanity is good.  I will not allow a few individuals make me believe otherwise (assuming this was an act of terror).  I will make something of this.  I will write.  I will honor those who we lost today.  I will wear my Red Sox hat in honor of Boston tomorrow.  I will not forget that Boston is my home.

As the event is still raw, I recognize that this may not be the most coherent or organized of posts.  For that I apologize.  That said, I would like to leave you with some reminders that the world is still a good place.  Do not let whoever did this trick you into believing otherwise -- for if you do, they have won.

Well I love that dirty water
Oh, oh, Boston, you're my home

"Dirty Water" - The Standells