Where were you when… (one year later)

IMG_1043Today I’m reposting my post from April 15th, 2013.  

It’s been a long year, full of so many amazing moments for myself, my family, and for my city.  And yet, as we come upon the anniversary of the Boston Marathon Bombings, I find myself struggling with the stories and the memories.  I remember that I didn’t cry.  There was so much coverage, it was so overwhelming, but I didn’t cry.  Until that one day, a week after the bombing when a little story on facebook caught me as I was drying off from my shower.  

And now, a year later, I find that I’m crying all the time.  I cried when I saw an old friend in a photo essay of the bombing victims.  I cried when I saw my neighbors interviewed as they run for the little Dorchester boy who died.  I cry for all the people who’s lives will never be the same.  And, I cry for the pride I feel for this city that I love so very much.

Today I was working in my yard when the bombs exploded two miles from my house.  I said to my eight year old.  Listen, pay attention, because some day someone will ask you where you were when the sounds of birds and spring were overcome by the sounds of sirens and helicopters.

On September 11th, I was in the Brockton High School cafeteria watching the coverage on the little TV in the corner with Kevin standing over my back shoulder strong and sturdy.

For Oklahoma City, I was in my apartment on Main St. in Worcester.  Looking forward to parties and Spree Day and all the celebration that should come with graduation.

For the shuttle explosion, I was in 7th grade, watching the coverage from Mr. Collin’s classroom.

But, then, on the day Ed asked me to marry him, I was sitting in EVOO eating molten chocolate cake on a pool of toasted marshmallow.

The day of our wedding was grey and misty, but the skies opened just long enough to take that perfect picture with my beloved Boston in the background.

When I found out I was pregnant, I drove to my husband, working at the house on Fuller Street, to show him the pink lines on the pregnancy test.

The day I went into labor I said to my Brookline spinning class, “Ladies, that’s it I won’t be seeing you for a few weeks.”

Let’s remember the good times as carefully and clearly as we remember the horrid.  Let’s hold onto the best of memories and let go of  the worst.  Let’s not let those who bargain in fear and hatred win.

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