Boston, You're My Home...

As I've said countless times here, I process through writing. So, once again, I'm going to try to do just that. I don't know how successful I'll be, but it's worth a try.

Today started off as one of the best days I've had. My brother set up an amazing experience for my entire family at today's Red Sox game. All of us, 19, went to Fenway for a private tour of the park that included being able to walk on the field. After the tour, we went to a private suite to enjoy the game. During the game, the 2004 and 2007 World Series trophies were brought into the suite for us to take photos of and with them. We got Boston Red Sox baseball gloves. It was amazing from top to bottom. Sharing it with my entire family, including my children, was nothing short of magical.

After the game, children under 12 were invited to run the bases. We did that (I actually ended up being allowed to run with my niece who got separated from the other kids and didn't want to run by herself). We took our time getting out of the park. And I'm really glad we did.

When we finally made it to our car (after ambling back to it, and a pit stop or two), we got ready to leave the parking garage we were in. E got an alert on his phone, glanced at it, and said, "Oh no, multiple injuries at the marathon..." But we didn't really know what that meant.

Then, almost simultaneously, I realized I had a voicemail that had come through while we were in the garage. It was from the mom of the boy I take care of during the week, whose family were also at the game today. She was calling to see that we were ok, and wanted me to text or call her to let her know. Immediately, E said, "Uh oh, get on Boston.com, this must be something bad." As he said that, several unmarked cruisers SPED by us, headed toward the finish line area in Back Bay.

I couldn't get on Boston.com. Thank God for Twitter, which was my source of information. We were able to ascertain what was going on and figure out how to get out of the city. It took ages to get out, but we were safe.

And I've basically been crying intermittently since then. So many thoughts have raced through my brain. How many years have my family and I been right where the bomb went off, watching the marathon? How many years have we had runners who would've been in the vicinity (in a massive coincidence, this year was the first since 1998 that no one in my family ran)? How many people do I know who WERE running, and whose family were in Copley? My mind and my city were both in chaos.

Boston is my city. It's my home. I grew up in the suburbs of Boston. I lived in the city for my fun, urban, single girl years. I worked in the city for over a decade, all told. It's a special place. And Patriot's Day, or Marathon Monday is its special day. It's a magical day in the city. I said to E, just this morning, "Today is the day I most miss living in the city."

We will mourn this terrible act of cowardice and barbarism. We will mourn the lives lost, the injuries suffered, the families fractured. But we will not let go of our special day. We will not. We are a strong, tough as nails city. We fight hard, we love hard, hell, we even drink hard. We do everything at full force. And we will recover at full force. And may God have mercy on the souls of those responsible, because there is no way in Hell Bostonians will have any mercy.