I have spent my whole life in and around Boston. I’ve walked up and down Boylston Street more times than I can possibly count. I have watched the Marathon from many places along the route. For a time, in high school, I thought I might one day run it. I never did.
Yesterday, I was in my car when the news of the explosions broke. For the rest of the day, I saw images of horror in familiar places. Like so many here and elsewhere, I heard and believed news that turned out (mercifully) not to be true. Again and again, I heard the blasts and saw the plumes of smoke. I watched and listened as doctors tried to describe the horror they battled (so successfully, I should note). The news reported a search of a home in Revere. No one had (or has) any explanation of why this happened or who did it. Today, the President called it, finally, “an act of terror.” Seeing the faces on the video, hearing the screams — how could it possibly be seen as anything else?
Friends reached out from across the country to see if we were okay. I said we were — because everyone I love is safe. I know that we are different today than we were yesterday. None of us in this place can be past what happened here yesterday. Indeed, we likely never will be. We will be different because of what we lost. Boylston Street is forever changed.
And I think this very strongly — the way to fight against these horrors is to keep going. I am eager to walk up and down Boylston Street again. Today, sitting at my desk at work, I am determined to persevere. I have an eye on the news; my heart is with the people who have been hurt or worse; and my focus is getting from today to tomorrow. The people who take aim at innocents are cowards. The people who keep moving — and refuse to be afraid — they are the heroes.
Bostonians ran toward the injured to help rather than away from the horror. That’s what I keep thinking about. It makes me very proud to call this great, old, beautiful city home.