Stronger.

It is raining today; in that misting, early spring way that April rain in the Northeast usually falls.  The weather seems somehow fitting, as today marks the one year anniversary of the Boston Marathon bombings.  This morning, as I was getting ready for work and listening to NPR air features about the victims and survivors of the bombings and where they are one year later, I was moved to tears.

While I stood in front of my bedroom mirror applying mascara and debating about what jewelry to wear, I heard story after story about the innocent people who lost limbs a year ago today and what their journey on the road to recovery has been like; what they've been able to accomplish and what they're still working on.  A year ago these were people who gathered together at the finish line on one of Boston's best days of the year.  And then, in an instant, everything changed.  Today - and for the past year - they have been dealing with prosthetic fittings, physical therapy, pain, heartache, and learning how to do things like walk all over again.  

Talk about perspective.

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The notorious Tsarnaev brothers lived one street over from where I live.  I couldn't help thinking of the two of them this morning either, knowing that exactly one year ago, they were at their apartment - mere blocks away from my own - packing up their backpacks with their stupid homemade bombs, making their awful, idiotic plans to plant those damn backpacks, and wreaking havoc on innocent runners, bystanders and this city as a whole.

Everyone knows how the rest of the week played out last year, of course.  We all lived it, even those who didn't live in Boston.  For a city that can be a little rough around the edges and has a reputation for being a bit brisk, we showed the world just how much heart and strength we, as a city, as Bostonians have.  Or, as David Ortiz, so perfectly put it: "This is our fucking city and nobody is going to dictate our freedom.  Stay strong."

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The past weekend was the first truly gorgeous spring weather weekend Boston has seen this year.  It's amazing and wonderful to me each and every year how palpable the feeling of excitement, giddiness, renewal, and overall JOY regarding the arrival of spring is in this city.  It's a feeling that I think belongs exculsively to the East Coast, particularly the Northeast; something I don't imagine those born and bred on the West Coast can ever fully appreciate - that first true day of spring, like a battle won after a long and arduous war.

People come out of their homes in droves and while I know it sounds like I'm reporting a scene from behind a pair of rose colored glasses, it really does seem that every single person is outside, smiling, breathing in the warmer air, admiring the buds on the trees and the flowers that are just starting to bloom.  Everyone is just happy to be there, to experience the small, wonderful treasures that new life brings us during this season.


Perhaps that's why I have always enjoyed spring.  It feels like HOPE.     

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And hope is what I'm left thinking about today, as I remember the people that were killed, injured, or harmed one year ago.  Hope, Strength, and Love.  I say a prayer for the victims, for their families and loved ones.  I think, with gratitude, of the first responders and for all of the people who leapt immediately to action, running toward the areas on Boylston Street where the bombs exploded.  Heroes, each and every one of them.

In the end, the good guys win.