I have little to say, except to express my grief, shock, and horror at the events of yesterday at the Boston Marathon.
I was not running, but I know many who were — and they, and all of their nearest and dearest who had come to spectate — are safe and accounted-for. Never in my life have I ever been so glad that one of my beloved friends was injured and couldn’t run.
It is not my place to provide commentary on this tragedy. And I wasn’t going to. But after some careful consideration, I think that it is important that we all say something. Terror attacks are meant to frighten; to silence. Maybe even not merely to silence, but to aggressively shut people up.
Relatedly, I had talked to A last night and confessed: I am rattled, and I am normally unfussed.
He replied: Just relax. Thank God it wasn’t you. Pray for those hurt. Let go.
Wise man that he can be, he was right. However, letting go doesn’t mean shutting up.
The truth of the matter is: I do not understand. I do not know why, for the second time in six months, a symbol of human strength, endurance, and perseverence would be cut down; shut down. I do not know why that someone would bomb the finish line.
I write a lot about the Finish Line Moments. That makes it particularly hard for me to wrap my mind around what happened yesterday.
So I suppose this isn’t really meant to be so much of a “thought” piece as a ramble and a prayer; a help-thanks-wow of the Anne Lamott variety.
Help me remain unfraid of the start and the finish. Thank God for the people who responded so quickly; who ran directly into the madness and risked their lives to save lives.
Wow. How. Why. I do not understand this. I do not understand how or why someone would attack this event — a paragon of charity, and fraternity, and a symbol of international unity. People weren’t in this to represent Boston, or Massachusetts, or even America. This was an attack on a global event — it was a hate crime against all ages, and nationalities, and abilities.
I know I am not alone in believing that this symbol of strength will go on. You can’t silence runners — the pounding of thousands of feet on pavement; the collective gasping of lungs. You can’t shut them up; you can’t stop the tide at the chute.
You see, in New York, we Ran. And on Sunday, in London, they will Run.
And Boston, too, will continue to Run.