April 15th in Boston

There is not much to say that has not been said. Boston Strong. Resilience. Prayers. Love. Peace.

It has been a year since the Marathon attack and today was spent remembering, mourning and looking ahead to the future. People came from all over, returning to the spot where their lives changed forever. We all have our story. I told mine just a few days after the attack, when it all really started to sink in. I was supposed to be there, I was not, my family, friends and running acquaintances were all left unharmed.

Not everyone I know was so lucky.

I have friends who knew one of the dead and many more who know the injured. Martin Richard and his family live less than a mile from our home in Dorchester.

But for one little quirk in life that day I would have been standing in the same spot as the Richard family, just as I had the year before as we all watched Matty cross the finish line. If I think too hard about it I get anxious, scared and sad. After the attack I had a weird fear of trash cans, stemming from the thought that maybe there were un-detonated bombs leftover. My story is one of millions, and mine is mild compared to so many more but today we all grieve together as we pass that first anniversary mark.

Right before the moment of silence I went to run errands and decided to go into the Arch Street Church, which is known for the wide range of people that are there at any given moment. Today was no different. There were people in suits, homeless people, old and young people, people in running gear. And there was me. A runner. A Bostonian by choice, married into this city and all that goes along with it. The mother of a Boston born child.

It was here, in the safety of the church and around the silence that I let all my tears go. I cried for those who died and their families, I cried for those wounded and those who cared for them, I cried for the two people responsible and families, I cried for myself, I cried for my family, I cried for my city.

After the moment of silence passed I walked out into the drizzly grey day, caught the T back to work and resumed the reports I am working on, the preparation for vacation, the chat with my husband.

Life continued.

And on Monday when thousands of runners take that first step in Hopkinton I will be waiting to cheer them on. I will watch friends and running teammates and strangers as they run towards their 26.2, towards tomorrow and towards another April 15th. Life continues, but we must always remember what brought us to today.

This hangs on the overpass near my home, a quote from 8 year old Martin Richard. Smart kiddo.


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