Monday, April 22, 2013
I don't know what I can say that has not already been said, but I know that I can not write about anything else, until I address what happened in Boston. It is hard to believe that it has only been a week. It is hard to believe that it happened at all.
You do not have to know me well, to know that I am from Boston. I live in Minneapolis but all of my family and some of my dearest friends still reside in and around the city. I have never been shy about my pride for my hometown. Boston is a remarkable place and I miss it very much.
Nick has commented to me on a few occasions that the city has a connectedness to it that is intimidating to an outsider. It feels like everyone knows everyone else. The house that my parents live in was built by my great-grandfather and that is not uncommon. Roots run deep and people love their city with a passion that is usually reserved for states and countries.
And it is with that connectedness, that passion, that my city responded to horrific tragedy. Watching my home splattered on national television was heart-wrenching. It felt like a nightmare and it stretched on for days. I sat on my couch trying to learn as much as I could. I flipped channels, yelling at national reporters for mispronunciations and at local reporters for pulling away from coverage to discuss weather and traffic. I endlessly texted and checked facebook and refreshed Boston.com. I worried about my family and friends and I prayed desperately for those I knew were not okay.
I commented in this post that before I go home again, I will have traveled a long way. I could never have imagined what that meant. I wish so badly that I could be there now, to look upon the people and the place and reaffirm that they are there, picking up the pieces and moving forward. It helps to see videos and to hear stories. It helps to know the strength of my city and the humor that peeks through, even in times of horrendous tragedy.
Boston, you have my heart.