A Reflection on Boston

I remembered where I was when Giffords was shot, when Auroa happened and when the two towers fell but….this was different. I was lying by the pool yesterday, tanning and listening to the wind run through the palm trees when my girlfriend told me about what was happening in Boston. As I often do, I had to tell myself what day it was because it was a weekend and all the day usually combine into one long, relaxing break from work. I thought the marathon had happened on a Sunday and I was surprised I was just now hearing about it. It made me think of how disconnected I got from the world on the weekends and I remembered the other day just talking about how I needed to stop my information overload. But, this made me think I should have paid more attention and at least checked Yahoo so I could have heard about this.

Almost as soon as I had thought it was Sunday, though, I realized it was Monday. I would find out later that kids in Boston had this day off from school and it was named Patriot Day. The Red Sox had an early afternoon game that everyone could go to and than walk down to the finish line to see the thousands of runners passing through. I remembered my brother had said Boston is a great walking city and I imagined how easy and surreal it would all be. Standing behind the green monster waiting for a Big Papi home run, eating a hot dog, walking out onto the streets, and then venturing over to the finish line to see someone with a story finish because everyone who ran a marathon had a story for why their doing it. There’s no way you could run one of those and not have a story.

I than remembered my mom running marathons when I was a kid. I couldn't have been more than 11 or 12 when I opened the window of our hotel room out to the downtown of San Francisco; smelled the smell of cities, heard the horns, and the ringing of the trolley. I remembered taking a cab with my dad to the finish line, my mom shaking from exhaustion with aluminum foil wrapped around her and a smile on her face when she saw us waving to her near the finish line. It was one of the most uplifting and motivational scenes you could be around. To this day whenever I don’t feel like going to the gym, finishing that last rep, or doing abs at the end of a workout I think of my mom running those marathons and I realize what I’m doing isn't that tough after all. That was the story for my mom; she wanted to do it to motivate us, to prove to herself that she could.

I remembered that a lot of people run marathons for charities. They do it for someone they lost or a charity that’s trying to save others. To go through that pain and hard work just to show your support to someone or honor a group of people is truly admirable. It’s tough to watch because it makes you feel a little worthless and you begin to wonder what the hell you’re doing with your life. I remembered all of these feelings before I brought myself back to the present; to what had happened at a scene devoid of selfishness and filled with inspiration. I felt all of this before I realized the selfish act that some person committed that afternoon and until this morning I didn't know what to think about it.

I told my girlfriend it felt like I was seeing some news from Israel or Pakistan. I wondered how those people handled it or if someone ever really handled something like this. Her and I couldn't comprehend it or understand it. I thought for a second, throwing away my idealism's  that this was just something that happened. I know that’s a very harsh thing to think but, at the time, it was the only way I could get it off my mind. With the Newtown shooting, Auroa Colorado and Giffords I had exhausted myself trying to explain any of it. Frankly, I still didn't understand it.

Driving into work I turned on Dan Patrick because, when I woke up, Boston had been on my mind again and I wasn't watching anything to distract me from it. Dan’s voice was somber; prompting me to almost change it after a few minute. I kept it on though because I remembered how angry I had been when Giffords had been shot. I had said it was a turning point in the cultural fabric of our society; when elected officials began to be shot. The system, however much better it was than others, was beginning to show signs of revolt. I was idealistic and angry that no one appreciated anything anymore. I wanted to see if I could feel that again because, when I had felt that with Giffords, it made me feel a little different from everyone else and that was good for me at the time. I couldn't relate to the scene of Giffords though so this was different because I could relate to standing at a finish line; to that scene of hope and joy.   

Dan talked about the eight year old kid that had died and how he had been waiting for his dad to finish. My eyes watered and I thought about myself when I was eight. I didn't know anything; all I had was happiness and the next minute, hour, and day. That was all I lived for when I was eight. All of these ideals, questions, responsibilities that have now consumed my thinking this child would never now experience. He had woken up to go see his father finish a race that he would never have the opportunity to run. I was that child; I was that innocence at the finish line that knew life was better and there was good things to be had after I saw my mom cross the finish line. I wondered if the kid had seen his dad cross? I hoped that he died with his innocence living.

I thought about the people who had done this and about evil. It is such a foreign thing to us; evil. It’s easier to quantify good and to explain what good is. Evil we have a tougher time explaining because it is unique among humans. It is unique in the sense that very few do it. When evil is done our emotions cloud everything that can be used to explain it. We don’t want to explain it or confront it because it is easier to be angry at it; yell, scream, and curse at it. Now I was angry because I wanted to find whoever had done this and show them pictures of the boy; show them his life and what they took from a family. I wondered if they would even care, though. I couldn't see how some ideal could be worth a little boys life. It should be easier to evil because we know so much about good, I thought.

I couldn't figure out why and, right now, I can’t find myself thinking about it anymore. It makes me angry to think about it and nobody wants to do anything that makes them angry. I can only hope that the justice is swift to whoever did this. But, I can’t allow myself to think this is what the world is now because evil is unique. Unique problems require unique solutions and that is something the world is forgetting.

From here, I will remember that hope and joy that existed at the finish line before all of this. We’re all in a race against people like this and we need to strive to make this situation unique. We need to strive to keep that hope and joy.