My heart is in Boston this week. I’m from Massachusetts and even though I haven’t lived there in a while, it will always be home. Patriots’ Day is a unique holiday. It celebrates the anniversary of the battles of Lexington and Concord in a state steeped in history. Growing up we celebrated with local parades, a day off school, and of course the Boston Marathon. Reading about the marathon has often filled me with a sense of awe. Running is not my thing. I’m amazed by the endurance of the athletes who participate. On Monday, I was horrified by what had happened and heartbroken about the lives lost and shattered and the people who will never be the same. The finish line of the Marathon should be a place for joy and triumph.
I’m filled with sadness over what’s been taken from us–innocence, a sense of security, life–and I’m also angry. Whatever coward did this wants us to live in fear and terror. I’m taking heart in all of the amazing stories of heroism from that day. People who leaped over barricades to help the wounded. Restaurants that stayed open late to offer a haven for those who needed it. Strangers offering rides, phones, a place to stay. There are so many small stories of humanity that shine hope into this darkness. That’s what keeps me going.
And you don’t mess with Boston. We’re made of strong stuff there. I’m standing proud with you all. We will not be broken.