Of course, the world I lived in just over a week ago had its own shocks, horrors and drama - it's own kind of terror. This, obviously, we know. But things were a touch removed, if only by actual, physical miles, from the areas I spend almost all of my days in work and in pleasure, from the spot where I've carved out a life for thirteen years, in the place that I've made my home.
Last Sunday night, I crawled into bed, sprawled on my stomach, as is my usual sleep pattern. I shifted my right leg in a weird sort of jack-knife position, trying to get comfortable. As soon as I did, I whispered a prayer of gratitude, one of the many that have escaped my lips in a quick breath over the past week. A week ago, I thought to myself, everyone had their legs, their arms, their limbs. Four people that should still be alive today, were.
And of course, today marks a week since last Thursday, when I sat with one of my assistant editors in my office right at 5pm, watching the press conference where the world was shown, for the first time, the images of the two suspects. A week ago still contains the Before - before hearing the sirens, more together than I had ever heard in my lifetime - at midnight that same night, before rolling over in my bed listening, knowing that something related to the bombings surely must be unfolding. Tomorrow morning will mark one week since I awoke to NPR, as I do every weekday, and heard, at 6:45am "all MBTA service suspended..." causing me to immediately leap out of bed to turn on the television. Before learning that my neighborhood, my entire city was on complete and total lock-down. Before I lived through what was surely the most surreal and intense day of my entire life.
It has been a rough couple of weeks here in Boston. Last week it seemed we were all in 'fight' mode - our adrenaline kicked in, all of us wondering what would come next as each of the week's strange, unpredictable and surreal events continued to unfold. Of course, I speak only for myself, but I've found this week even harder in an odd way, after waking up Saturday morning wondering if the whole thing was just some wildly insane dream. In the days since, I have been trying to process, to decompress. I want to make sense of something that's completely nonsensical, I want to process something that won't ever truly be processed. And because I can't make sense of the horrifying events this dear city lived through last week, I find myself counting the days in between events. I measure weeks. I mark the calendar, I take note of the time. I'm not exactly sure why I mentally measure these ticks of time, except that in some small way it's a measure of a before and an after that I can keep track of; something that's almost tangible, a thing, a day, that I can point to and say that was then, this is now.
I liked the "then" for so many obvious reasons. If I knew a way or had it in my power to undo the bombings, the deaths, the injuries, the hurt, and the immense sadness, I would in a heart beat. Of course I would. Unfortunately, I don't have that power. None of us do.
We do, however, have the power to love, to heal, to be strong. Never have I been so sure of the quality of people in this city as I am right now; having witnessed unbelievable acts of faith, courage, and humanity. Over the past ten days I have found myself often thinking of the quote attributed to Martin Luther King, Jr.. It's the same quote I thought about after 9/11, and again after the recent Newtown tragedy: "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."
On Saturday afternoon, I made my way down to the heart of our city, getting as close to the sight of the explosions that I could. I had a strong urge to just be there, to visit the growing memorials along Boylston Street, to stand with other members of my community,to remember that none of us are alone in this.
Among the many notes, flowers, and tokens of affection left for the victims of the bombings, one in particular stood out to me. It was a note, written in gold marker across a blue poster. 'The evil are few. The good are many. Good wins every time."
The good did win. We won. Boston, won.
I have never been more proud of this city and my fellow Bostonians than I have been in the past week. There is so much love, so much heart, and so much goodness right here, all around us.
There is, in the end, so much strength.
1 comment:
I really don't know what to say, but I do want you to know that I read this and cried. My heart is with you and with everyone else who has been affected.
Hugs.
xox
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