4.15.13: What a Day.
A week and a day later I am still in disbelief to have been present and bare witness to the chaos of two bombs, and plumes of white smoke, and the smell of gun powder, and the aural saturation of sirens, and law enforcement and first responders spilling in from everywhere, every direction, and the confusion the confusion the confusion. What a day.
The grandstand fell, a commemorative cannon, an F-18 flyover, gunshots don’t sound like that, that those were bomb explosions, that people lost limbs, that people may have died (three did), that friends may be hurt or worse, that there were more yet to be detonated bombs, that safety is an illusion… What a day.
Now that the fog of confusion has lifted what remains is an eerie stillness and sobering thoughts: That life really can change in an instant. That there are simply no guarantees. What a day.
I am encouraged by the core of the injured. They are resilience, they are power, they are strength personified. Like the woman who lost both legs and shared that at least she will never have shin splints again. lol She made me smile. What a day it was for her.
This has been a tough year for me for so many reasons. But tough is relative or so I really learned on that day. For weeks my heart and mind were bound with a sadness, a fear, a frustration like I’ve never felt before. I was only alive, going through the motions of waking up getting dressed, going to work, coming home, and over… And then: what a day.
On a day where others lost their limbs and three lost their lives, I came to life. Those explosions were like heart paddles that pumped electrodes of gratitude into my soul. What a fucking day.
Don’t get me wrong, with all that I am I’d rather turn back the hands of time and change the day’s trajectory. I’d rather, after another little bit (since the person I was there to see was at mile 20), have made the last block and a half walk to the intersection of Boylston and Dartmouth with my friends to see my friend who was running cross the finish line. I’d rather that have been the rush of the day. I’d rather that little boy, and those two young ladies, and all the limbs lost be firmly back in their rightful places just as they were at 2:49pm on Monday, 4.15.13. What a damn day.
It’s tough to believe that I can ever be bereft of a life force ever again. But if I am, please remind me to read this blog post and remember. Please remind me to read Josh’s blog post, I Put My Running Shoes On for You , and remember: where we were and what happened that day. Remember that, as Josh says, “The least we can do, for an innocent death or harm, is honor it by being better people and doing better things.” And to do that we have to live the notion - the ideal - that friendship, and family and community, and love are EVERYTHING. We have to live that. 4.15.13: what a day.