boston
I don't have anything new to say.
Nothing profound, nothing moving, nothing more than what is merely an echo of what is being said by thousands of others this morning.
I may or may not even hit publish, and if I do, I will know that it is likely because I am just trying to make myself feel better. I am searching for comfort that I don't even understand why I need.
I'm not sure why this has affected me more than the dozens of other tragic events that have filled our world over the past few years. Maybe it's because I lived in Boston for a while, but I don't think that's it. Maybe it's because I stood in the exact spot that is being circled on maps and infographics, two years ago, myself cheering for loved ones. But I don't think that's it either. The poet pointed out that had he been running, the time on the clock would have been his and I would have been there on the sidelines, and his voice shook when he said it. And I had a pretty bad ten minutes yesterday afternoon trying to track down some of the dearest friends to my heart, one running, some cheering, all in harm's way. All, I know now, safe.
I could write about how these are my people, this is my family, but if you are reading this, than these are also your people, your family, so you understand. That is not something that needs to be said.
All I could do yesterday afternoon was stare out the window and watch the snow fall. And then I came home and gathered my family to me and sat on the couch and stared into space until I looked up and noticed that it was night.
I know that social media is reaching out and gripping each other's hands, together, like they tend to do. People need people, people need reminders that they are alive, people lean towards fight. But I desire flight. And maybe it makes me horrible, but I can't bear to be a part of it, to watch it all go by. I don't want to repost quotes or RT so someone will donate money or wear things or say things or do things.
I just want to sit here. In my own silence, stunned, with my aching heart, and grieve.
Nothing profound, nothing moving, nothing more than what is merely an echo of what is being said by thousands of others this morning.
I may or may not even hit publish, and if I do, I will know that it is likely because I am just trying to make myself feel better. I am searching for comfort that I don't even understand why I need.
I'm not sure why this has affected me more than the dozens of other tragic events that have filled our world over the past few years. Maybe it's because I lived in Boston for a while, but I don't think that's it. Maybe it's because I stood in the exact spot that is being circled on maps and infographics, two years ago, myself cheering for loved ones. But I don't think that's it either. The poet pointed out that had he been running, the time on the clock would have been his and I would have been there on the sidelines, and his voice shook when he said it. And I had a pretty bad ten minutes yesterday afternoon trying to track down some of the dearest friends to my heart, one running, some cheering, all in harm's way. All, I know now, safe.
I could write about how these are my people, this is my family, but if you are reading this, than these are also your people, your family, so you understand. That is not something that needs to be said.
All I could do yesterday afternoon was stare out the window and watch the snow fall. And then I came home and gathered my family to me and sat on the couch and stared into space until I looked up and noticed that it was night.
I know that social media is reaching out and gripping each other's hands, together, like they tend to do. People need people, people need reminders that they are alive, people lean towards fight. But I desire flight. And maybe it makes me horrible, but I can't bear to be a part of it, to watch it all go by. I don't want to repost quotes or RT so someone will donate money or wear things or say things or do things.
I just want to sit here. In my own silence, stunned, with my aching heart, and grieve.