Thoughts on Coming Home to Boston
By The Odd Broad on April 16, 2013
Featured Member Post
On Thursday afternoon I popped outside for my lunch break and walked around Copley, like I always do. Only that day, the excitement in the air over the upcoming marathon was palpable. Workers were busy erecting bleacher seating and the medical tent in front of the BPL, and I noticed that many of the storefronts had marathon themes. And honestly, there was just something so beautiful about it all; it sort of touched me. I felt a little silly, but I started snapping pictures up and down Boylston Street. The doorman outside the Mandarin asked, "Are you running on Monday?" And I patted my belly and said, "Nah, not me; baby on board!" And he said, "Oh, well maybe next year. Bucket list?" I smiled as if to say "perhaps" but I walked away thinking, geez, I'm not sure I would ever run a marathon. It's not something I've ever even considered. But I still think it's an awesome thing to do, and the day is always a really special one for our city.
I love how clean Boston is. I never even realized how clean it was until I moved away to New York and came home for a visit. It was immaculate by comparison.
A great deal smaller, but very, very clean and charming. More like a big town than a city, I remember saying to my mom. For the longest time, I didn't think I could ever move back, I figured I had probably outgrown it.
I wanted to get a picture of the finish line, but they hadn't painted it yet, so I figured I'd go back Friday. But it was cold and rainy on Friday, so I ended up staying inside. I was planning on doing a little marathon post sometime this week.
Shortly after I took these pictures, a gentleman who informed me his name was Mr. Bubble-Dee-Licious said, "Girlfriend, you're hot! You wanna become Mrs. Bubble-Dee-Licious?" And although I politely declined, I did think to myself: "Man, even the crackheads here have character.
You've gotta love Boston. I know I do.
Our office closes for marathon Monday, since we're so close to the finish line. So I was safe at home watching the Mickey Mouse Road Rally on Disney, Jr., curled up on the couch spooning my sweet little boy, when my husband told me a bomb had gone off in Copley. I spent the rest of the afternoon glued to the television set like a zombie. I haven't been able to stop crying. I think about the runners, having gone 26 miles, only to have this happen? The spectators, cheering them on? What did they see? What horrors did they all experience? I think of the children, the parents, and I just want to start weeping and never stop.
This is a joyful day, a triumphant day, a legendary day -- not a day for something as twisted as this to occur.
Our world, our world, our beautiful world. What causes some people to become so overridden with darkness they would do this to another living soul? I don't understand. I just don't. I look at my precious son, and I feel the stirrings in my belly from the baby on its way to me, and I feel such a profound sadness and heaviness. All day long I prayed that I could somehow send out a bright white light into the world, that it could somehow envelop all those affected. And I prayed and will continue to pray for anyone who would do harm to another that they may be flooded and overcome with that light, that their hearts would melt open. Why is there evil in this world? I don't know. But I do know there is more light than there is darkness.
And as I lay in my son's room last night as he drifted off into sleep, I whispered the prayer I always say, asking the God of my understanding to keep my children in the palm of his hand, and for the Blessed Mother to wrap her arms around my sweet babies. And I asked that they do this to everyone touched by today's despicable events. I asked that they do this to us all, and bathe this world in grace and light and courage and strength. I try hard to remember to think this even as my heart is saying f*ck whoever is behind all this.
When I lived in New York, people called me Boston. Not Sarah from Boston, just Boston. (And usually Baaaaahston, because let's face it, nobody gets the accent right.) Today feels to me the same way that mild Tuesday morning in September felt twelve years ago. Same shock, same fear, same anger, same sadness, same sick feeling in my belly, same helpless disbelief. I want to be afraid, my first instinct is to be afraid, but just like back then, I know I can't be. Instead, I will send out my love, for whatever it's worth, to whomever may need it. God bless our city and our beautiful, brave little earth, and all the souls who inhabit it. Life is fragile and so, so precious.
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