Boston

Monday was my first Patriot's Day since I moved to Boston. I couldn't wait to go watch the end of the Marathon, to see all the people. My sister lives at the start of the race, and now I live near the Finish Line. My Boston Marathon experience was going to be complete.

The day got off to a funky start, with Cris and me bickering about something insignificant. I ended up hanging at the apartment longer than I'd wanted, but finally at about 1:00pm, I decided that I was going to go out on my own to check out Copley Square and Boylston Street. I only had to walk one block before I saw all of the runners with their foil blankets around their shoulders and medals around their necks. The elite runners had mostly finished, but hundreds of people were still crossing the finish line and walking up Berkeley Street to find their family members and friends. I perched against a barricade near the medical tents and took it all in. So much accomplishment and strength.

My sister was going to be arriving soon, so I walked back to my neighborhood. I paused at home to check in with Crisp, who was stuck working from the apartment. Then, around 2:45pm I walked to the train station to meet CC. As I stepped across Clarendon Street toward Back Bay station, I heard the first explosion. I looked up to the clear blue sky, worried at that noise. Only seconds passed before I heard the second. I instantly felt sick, but I controlled myself. I have a tendency to assume the worst, so I told myself it was a construction noise or friendly cannon blast related to the Marathon. Unconvinced, I let my eyes search for a police officer or transit authority person at the station to gauge body language. I spotted one officer--he was listening intently to his radio. Another officer walked briskly out of the station with an unconcerned expression on his face.

I watched the dozens of people around me at the busy train station. Several we're on their cell phones, and more walked in from the street. No one was alarmed, nothing seemed wrong.

Minutes later, CC sent me a text message, asking me if I'd heard anything about an explosion at the finish line. A woman on her train had received a phone call from a relative at the scene, and she reported that it was bad. My stomach dropped. The sirens outside became louder. I looked around, and still there were no worried or panicked faces. Oblivion.

"Hurry up," I wrote to Caron, as if she could will the train to arrive more quickly. I wanted to get out of the crowded train station as soon as possible.

What seemed like ages (but was really only 8 minutes) later, CC rode up the escalator with eyes as wide as saucers. Then, my phone flashed a news alert confirming our fears. "Explosions reported at the Boston Marathon finish line." We exited the train station in the direction of Copley Square, a little more than a block away from Boylston Street, the finish line. Unmarked police cars whizzed down the street, and people walked up from Boylston with tears streaming down their faces. Everyone was trying to use their cellphones, to no avail. More sirens wailed by us as we stood frozen on the sidewalk at Copley. Huge black trucks that I'd never seen before, with "Boston Special Ops" on the side, raced past us. The road was being shut down, officers appeared and started ushering people down the street, away from Boylston Street and Copley Square. My phone vibrated with a miraculous incoming call--from my mom. We were walking quickly to my apartment, and I answered, not saying "Hello" but rather "We're fine!" My mom's voice replied, "Oh, thank God. I was scared to death."

By the time we got to the apartment, neither one of our cell phones was receiving or sending calls or text messages. Cris greeted us with panic, as he was just about to run out looking for us. He said he had tried to call me several times without any luck. We used the house phone and social media to get in touch with family and friends who knew where we lived and were worried. We watched the TV. Realizing the severity of the situation that was occurring just minutes away from us, I sobbed. I couldn't, and still can't, believe that this was so close to home.

Three days later, it's still really unnerving. There is National Guard and police officers posted all over the neighborhood. Yesterday brought a string of threats and scares, from the MBTA to the city's Federal Courthouse. I kind of want to hole up inside and pretend that I'm safe within the walls of my little apartment, but my anxious mind has thought of how much worse it could have been. Had the destruction been any more grand, our proximity to the explosions could've doomed us here at home.

Everyone is saying that Boston is strong and resilient. I don't want to admit that I'm feeling scared and helpless while the suspects are still out there somewhere. I know that the Boston Police Department, FBI, National Guard, Fire Department, Special Ops, Investigators, and so many others are doing everything in their power to keep us all safe. I am so grateful for them, and I can only imagine how tired they must be.

I--along with everyone else in this city, state and world, really--are grateful too for the heroes and first responders that ran into smoke and horrifying destruction to help strangers. So many lives were likely saved because of selflessness and bravery. The medical tents that I had watched earlier in the day on Monday, which were to set up to aide those with cramps, fatigue and dehydration, became triage units for lacerations, tourniquets, and blood loss. Volunteers rose to the occasion, saved lives, and made such a difference.

Boston lost three beautiful people that day. So many more are so critically hurt. We drove past Boston Medical Center last night, and the armored car and military personnel outside reminded me of the victims inside. May God bless them with swift recoveries.

We continue to pray for Boston, for those injured and those lost, for the families, for the first responders, and for those scarred from the images of what they saw. We pray for those who are working tirelessly, trying to find the individuals who are responsible for this heinous act. We pray for strength. We pray for peace.

As we start another day, the news channels keep breaking more heart-wrenching stories. It's hard not to think about the tragedies, but it's easier, too. A break from thinking about it would be nice, so I'll stop here. Forgive me if this posting was disconnected. It will be a while before we feel like ourselves in this city, I guess.

1. Hope
2. Prayer
3. Love