Everyone in the world has already written or spoken about the events at the Boston Marathon yesterday, but I feel the need to add my own words to the mix.
I was at the dentist’s office when the news broke. It seemed unreal to me. Was there really a bombing at THE Boston Marathon? The more I looked at the screen and scrolled through my news-feed on my phone I knew it was real.
The thing is….and this is hard for me to write so bear with me…I’ve never reacted to any tragedy on the news. I’ve watched footage of horrible things happening and I stare blankly at the screen. I’ve watched friends, family, and strangers fall apart at the seams. Crying and losing their minds with every emotion, and I simply could not connect with any of them. I KNEW the event was supposed to be sad or scary or something. I KNEW I should feel, but I never have…until yesterday.
While watching and reading and listening to it all, I began to feel guilty. Guilty I wasn’t as upset as I “should” be according to so many people. I went to the gym and I did a yoga/pilates class and used the weights. I looked around and wondered if anyone else was thinking about Boston this evening? I drove home and ate some food. Nothing unusual.
Emme and I sat back down at my computer, talked to some people, answered a few texts from friends asking if I was there and if I was OK. Then I kept scrolling through the feeds. I couldn’t tell you if it was a picture or a quote or a random reaction, but somewhere along the way something went off inside of me. Out of no where I felt this intense rush of emotions. My eyes began to fill with tears and then quietly and heavily I began to sob.
For the rest of the night I couldn’t bring myself to stop reading stories and to think about what happened and what it means and meant. I have never felt so much for something that didn’t happen to or around me. (Except the Holocaust, but that’s a different story).
Maybe I’m growing up? As my coworker explained, it’s easy to not see the world outside yourself at a young age. Maybe it’s the work I do now and I have learned to feel so much for so many others? Maybe it’s because I’ve been there. I’ve watched the event. I’ve touched the finish line and I dream of one day earning a BQ. Maybe it was the hours of updates from friends and fellow bloggers announcing their health and well-being.
I don’t know and I don’t have answers and I don’t want answers. Some things can’t be explained.
I wasn’t able to wear a race shirt to work today, so I wore blue and yellow.
No one mentioned Boston to me the whole day. Near the end of the day several coworkers were teasing me for wearing “Michigan colors” when I am an Ohio girl. I looked at them so seriously and so hurt and quietly said. “They’re the Boston Marathon colors. I’m wearing them because of the bombs yesterday”. I’m not sure if I’ve even seen a group of people look so ashamed and embarrassed in my life.
I’ve always looked at heartache and tragedy as another chip away at my soul. Another puncture wound leading to my eventual crumbling. Today I’ve decided to try a different approach. Maybe these moments aren’t meant to break me apart? Maybe these moments are simply different colored fabrics in the patchwork quilt of my life. Each piece with its own moment and story and outcome, but without them my quilt wouldn’t be complete.