I should write something.
I was there at the start when the air was alive with energy
and anticipation. I was there when runners who prepared for months nervously
counted down to the start of the race. I was there when it was a perfect day
for running 26.2 miles, fueled by the energy of the volunteers and spectators
lining the route. I was there when it was uplifting and exhilarating. I was
there when it was a fantastic day to run the 117th Boston Marathon.
I was there when the bombs went off, a few minutes after I
crossed the finish line, just a few dozen yards away. I was there when cheers
of celebration and joy transformed into screams of pain and terror, as
emergency personnel and volunteers protected only by their bright yellow jackets
ran into the smoke and carnage as they simultaneously screamed for us to
evacuate.
I was there for nearly two hours, stumbling dazed around
Boston as runners and family members desperately searched for each other,
comforted each other, helped each other. And I was there when all but one of
our friends made contact with her family, her glazed and wet eyes foretelling
the unimaginable reality to come.
I see the faces of those killed, their photos capturing
random, happy moments from their short lives. I was there, in their final
minutes. I wonder if they cheered for me, or caught my eye for just a moment. I
try to understand why some of us are protected by guardian angels, while others
are called to become angels. I question endlessly how an event to celebrate
running could leave spectators without limbs. How an event to celebrate the
human spirit could be a target for violence, hatred and death. I wonder how the
historic Boston Marathon is now followed by the words “Bombing”, “Massacre” and
“Tragedy”.
I didn’t watch the unending hours of news. I didn’t have to.
I was there, and replay that moment daily. My chest feels like it is being
crushed by the combined weight of guilt, disgust, helplessness and sadness; so
much sadness.
I didn’t save newspapers about the event. I didn’t attend
the remembrance, memorial service or group run I was invited to. I should have,
but I didn’t. I couldn’t.
Because I’m trying the best I can to be here, not there.
But I was there, and I should write something.
The only words I can think of to say is that I am very very glad that you are still here....
ReplyDeleteReading this 10 years later, thank you xo
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