It’s been a day and a half and yet, I still can’t stop thinking about what happened in Boston on Monday.
* * *
On September 11, 2001, I didn’t even own a cell phone. I was a sophomore in college. I didn’t find out until almost 11am everything that had happened that morning – by then, the Towers were gone. By the time I got to a TV, I was watching replays. Even though I had purchased long-distance service for my dorm room phone, I needed to call my parents right away, from a pay phone in the academic building where my class was. I used an emergency calling card to make the call.
Monday, I found out what happened in Boston from Facebook within twenty minutes of the first bombing. By the time I switched tabs over to Twitter, pictures, videos and news alerts and #BostonMarathon were already trending.
Not to sound like some kind of old fart, but when I was in college, we didn’t even have Facebook or Twitter.
Monday, social media provided an invaluable service to the city of Boston as officials relayed information to the public faster, folks connected with loved ones, and as the inherent compassion and goodness of Bostonians kicked in.
* * *
Saturday and Sunday, I was at Suffolk University for the New Leaders Council Boston Institute, a progressive leadership development program for young Boston professionals. One of our speakers that morning was planning to run the next day. We were busy planning our annual fundraising event. I get so lifted up at my Institute weekends because I’m surrounded by such talented, passionate, like-minded individuals.
As the day wrapped, I walked from Suffolk down the Common to the garage where I was parked, noting the barricades and the influx of tourists. The weather was chilly, but bright. I wished I had worn a jacket.
As I learned more about what had happened in Copley Square, I immediately emailed our NLC Boston listserv, knowing that so many people in our cohort lived and worked downtown, and that many of them would actually be at the Marathon. When I didn’t hear from people on the email thread, I texted them, posting updates to the thread. I then started emailing, texting and Facebooking everyone I could think of who lived or worked downtown, or folks I knew who might be volunteering that day.
By the grace of G-d, no one I know who was there was injured or killed.
I do have a friend who was about 100 yards away from the second blast. Amazingly, he got out with no injuries. But that’s not to say he’s not shaken and to be honest, I don’t blame him.
* * *
I may not live in Boston. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have an immense sense of loyalty and pride to this city. Boston really is my home, however adopted it may be; this push-pin focal point of my regional identity in my adulthood. Yes, Salem might be where my house is but when people ask me where I live, I usually respond with “Boston.”
And it’s breaking my heart to know this has happened to my city – my home.
* * *
A good friend of mine were talking this morning on Twitter. She happened to be out of town Monday, but she’s been very shaken by what happened. “I walk down those streets. Seeing pictures of this covered in blood now… it’s just so scary.”
* * *
I stayed camped at my computer for much of the day. I listened to streaming audio of news reports because I couldn’t bear to watch video or look at too many photos. I managed to keep that in check until about 5pm, when I needed to see.
I clicked a link on Twitter.
I watched this Boston Globe video from reporter Steve Silva. Crouched at the finish line, Silva captures runners crossing the line at their level. And then – an explosion. Screams. People running toward the blast area. A second explosion. He runs toward the scene as confused runners speed past him.
As I watched Boston PD and Marathon volunteers begin to tear down the barricades decorated with flags from around the world – representing the truly global celebration of this Boston-based tradition – I started sobbing uncontrollably.
The camera panned quickly to the first blast area, showing that the front of the Marathon Sports store had been completely blown away. That iconic store that I’ve passed a dozen times – the front just blasted away. I kept crying but I couldn’t pause the video.
I needed to see.
* * *
I had a pizza for dinner. Not, I had a slice of pizza – I had an entire pizza for dinner. It was bookended with mint cookie ice cream. My glucose levels were out of control last night but I didn’t care.
I listened to WBUR’s coverage, WBZ’s coverage into the night. Eyes red from crying, I finally went to bed at midnight, exhausted since I had only gotten three hours of sleep the night prior. I set an alarm for 8am.
I got up at about 5:30. I wondered why I had woken up so early, knowing how tired I was. And then I remembered everything that happened and laying there in the brightening room, I began to cry. I sobbed into my pillow as I realized that morning – and from every day forward – it will be very, very different in the town I call home.
* * *
I am still very much unpacking and processing what has happened. It’s interesting – for all of the issues I’ve had with perinatal depression, up until 2:50pm Monday, I’ve been doing spectacularly. I’ve made real progress and feeling so excited and joyful about this pregnancy (finally).
And now I’m thinking about the necessary work of repairing this broken world that I must engage in for my son. I am called to it. The world I inhabit is the world I create for him and I owe it to my son to do my part to create a more peaceful, progressive, compassionate world.
I’m already thinking of how our NLC group – this group of passionate, progressive leaders with connections throughout Boston – can help, can make a difference. Besides some processes we’ve already begun to set in motion, I’m thinking of ways to tap into this collective group of awesomeness to help make a difference for the bombing victims and their families.
* * *
It’s stunning here in Massachusetts this morning, a sky so blue it almost hurts your eyes.
And we still bloom.
