Morning of the Boston Marathon
Our first morning back home in Utah. My 10-year-old son snuggled into bed with me this morning, and I knew it would mean a lot to him if we pushed ourselves to get out the door to join him on a school field trip. So I hustled to get the two babies ready and we went to play with the school class at the dinosaur museum. The housework could wait.
I lingered a few minutes after the class left so that I could take the three year old to the bathroom, and it was literally while I was helping my little guy in the stall that my cell phone rang; it was my paternal grandmother in tears. Since she lives in Oregon, she hadn't known for certain when we were traveling home, but she had been watching the morning news and the horrific news stories about the bombing of the Boston marathon had her frantic with worry for our safety. Knowing how we love an adventure, if we had been in Boston today, I'm sure we would have been there, cheering on the runners who had worked so hard for this exciting day. Seeing the picture in my mind of beautiful Copley Square so clearly, with all of my peaceful and happy memories there, was disconcerting. The whole thing seemed impossible, incomprehensible.
On August 25th, Justin's birthday, we spent part of the day visiting Copley Square. It was only a couple of days after Audrey's resection surgery, and she was artificially paralyzed with medication at the time, so our emotions were frazzled and raw, adding a note of surreal to the beautiful surroundings. It was hard to persuade him to leave her bedside, but we needed that time together. Copley Square was a nice place to stop for some photos and enjoy his piece of peanut butter cheesecake.
I decided to drive the long way home that afternoon, through the mountain pass, flying over the stunning mountain vistas near Park City, grieving for the beautiful city of Boston, reveling in the open skies all around me and marveling at the juxtaposition of beauty and ugliness in this world. I began the drive by listening to the news, growing more and more horrified as the scope of the attacks came into focus. One man was describing how people's severed limbs had gone flying past him in the blast, and in spite of my horror I felt a responsibility to listen carefully to his interview that was being drowned out by other noises in the car. But when I reached out to turn up the volume, to my surprise the radio somehow switched to playing a Hawaiian album my husband and I had bought on a date last summer to see the Polynesian Cultural Center on tour, I hadn't even realized was still in the player. I pushed the buttons for several seconds trying to get the news back, but for some reason the radio would not cooperate, and suddenly I noticed that I had been ignoring the fact that in the back seat, the news had been making Audrey cry. As soon as the music began she quickly settled and fell asleep, and I felt like I there was a gentle message being sent here. So I tried to relax into the moment and just let my mind rest. Soon both babies were peacefully slumbering in the backseat as I drove those beautiful miles over the mountains listening to Hawaiian music. It was oddly incongruous, and yet somehow exactly where I needed to be. So many thoughts ran through my mind, frustration at the things I could not control, prayers for the wounded and the law enforcement officers and doctors that would not rest until their job was done, prayers of gratitude for the safety of my family and friends who had all for various reasons either been out of the city or out of harm's way at the time, pride in the resilience and strength of the American people and the wonderful people of Boston, and just, time to breathe and enjoy the beauties of the earth. As details about the bombers would unfold in the coming days, I would realize that the little town where we'd lived for all those months in Southern Masachusetts was right next door to the little college the younger brother had attended; he'd lived twenty minutes from our house. I'd driven past the small campus every time I went to town for errands. At first that knowledge had made my blood run cold. But yet, our friends there and everyone we knew was safe, and my heart beat strong with love and faith in God and mankind. Even the wounded were being cared for at literally the #1 hospitals in the nation both for children and adults. Still the horrifying, hopeless feeling question remained, why would these two young people, why would anyone do this thing, why in Boston, why now? There is so much that we don't know.
..."But here's what I DO know. If it's one person or a HUNDRED people, that number is not even a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a percent of the population on this planet. You watch the videos of the carnage and there are people running TOWARDS the destruction to help out.
This is a giant planet and we're lucky to live on it but there are prices and penalties incurred for the daily miracle of existence. One of them is, every once in awhile, the wiring of a tiny sliver of the species gets snarled and they're pointed towards darkness.
"But the vast majority stands against that darkness and, like white blood cells attacking a virus, they dilute and weaken and eventually wash away the evil doers and, more importantly, the damage they wreak. This is beyond religion or creed or nation. We would not be here if humanity were inherently evil. We'd have eaten ourselves alive long ago.
So when you spot violence, or bigotry, or intolerance or fear or just garden-variety misogyny, hatred or ignorance, just look it in the eye and think, "The good outnumber you, and we always will."
~Patton Oswalt
“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of ‘disaster,’ I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers - so many caring people in this world.” ~Paul Rogers, aka Mister Rogers
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