I Love You, Boston

I was born in Boston.  Even though I only lived there until I was four years old, when I moved an entire state away to Rhode Island, I visited it, it seems, every weekend, since my entire extended family lived there, until we at last moved to Cleveland when I was eleven.  And even then, we loaded up the Malibu station wagon to visit every summer and, for a while Christmas.  My youngest sister, being four years my junior when we moved from Rhode Island, claims Michigan (where we eventually ended up) as her home, but I always considered Boston mine.  I wanted to move back there when I finally returned East fifteen or sixteen years ago, but in a compromise with my friend, with whom I made the move, we settled on New York City (he wanted to go to San Francisco).  I can't stop thinking about Boston tonight.

It's difficult to process horrible tragedies such as happened today.  It seems so senseless.  Why do innocent people have to suffer?  So many people will be scarred from this, including those of us, like me, who can only sit by their computers trying to understand the incomprehensible.  I love Boston.  I love the spectacle and accomplishment of a marathon.  So many people put in so many hours to do something heroic.  And a few awful, detestable human beings can do so much harm.  It is hard to not be cynical.  I can't help but relive that helpless feeling from 9/11 when all I could do is stand by and feel powerless.  It helps to know that heroes are always in our midst.  Just as I felt in awe of the first responders who ran towards the danger, who knew what to do and did it that horrible Tuesday over eleven years ago, I thank God for the officials who knew what to do today.  While others stumble about in fear and shock, it is their job to react in a crisis. 

Let's not forget to celebrate the champions,
the runners, the heroes, and the whole city.

For me, I will struggle, again, to figure out what to tell my daughter.  I have the luxury of choosing what and how much to tell.  Had we been there, as we have been in the past, I would be forced to try to explain to a young child the reasons these sort of things happen, of which I know none.  How does one explain this?  How does one not startle a child and cause her to have nightmares or live in fear?  How?

Boston, my thoughts are with you.  I am praying for the victims: to the man in a wheelchair without lower legs, to the parents of the eight year old who was killed, to the man knocked down just before the finish line, the masses who trained for this day and who overcame, and to the others that I cannot see tonight from my computer screen.  I want those people to know that most people are good.  Many, many more people rushed to help them, to comfort them, to pray for them, than the group of cowards that did this.  I hope that one day soon their faith in humanity will be restored.  I hope mine will be, too.