Thoughts on A Tragedy

My boys are in the family room watching Star Wars, curled up comfortably on the couch after a morning of playing outside in the sunshine.

I am in the next room looking at a picture of 8-year-old Martin William Richard. He wears a toothy grin and a Boston Bruins sweatshirt and hat. Judging from the sea of yellow surrounding him, he’s at the Garden, enjoying warm-ups before a hockey game, probably accompanied by his dad, maybe his mom, or perhaps even his whole family.

His toothy grin and attire remind me so much of my own 8-year-old, who loves the Boston Bruins and whose smile is crowded with teeth his mouth is not yet big enough to accommodate. Like my 8-year-old, Martin has a brother and a sister who adore him. He has parents who love him fiercely. He has classmates and friends. He has hobbies and interests. Likes and dislikes.

But Martin William Richard is dead. And my son is alive. Thank God, my son is very much alive.

I can’t even begin to imagine what madness drove someone to detonate two bombs Monday at the Boston Marathon, a day where all of Boston – and the world – gathers to celebrate life, spring, camaraderie and a love of running. I don’t know why the fuck someone out there thinks answers come in the form of violence, destruction and the taking of innocent lives. I don’t know how you pick up the pieces and carry on when all you’ll ever see of that toothy grin now is in a photograph. But I do know this:

I could be Martin Richard’s mother. Any of us could. And that scares the hell out of me.

I don’t have any profound thoughts, no words that will give comfort to anyone. In fact, I usually don’t ever share my thoughts on tragic events like these publicly because I always feel that my words fall short. They sound meaningless and contrived. There’s nothing I can say that no one else hasn’t said or felt. And there’s so many people who can say it better. But maybe that’s the point.

I only have the scattered thoughts of a mother. I’m heartbroken. I’m confused and scared and helpless. And I’m mad. So fucking mad. And I’m putting myself in the shoes of Bill and Denise Richard – who, along with her daughter, is lying in a Boston hospital recovering from injuries from the bombings – because I have to. Because life is random and so fucking unfair. Because there’s a little boy dead, a mom and sister seriously injured, and a dad and little brother who are broken. Because this could all be my story. Because I could be them. And I want to take away some of their pain by feeling it alongside them.

And so I’m looking at this picture of 8-year-old Martin William Richard, while the sun shines outside and my boys are curled up comfortably on the couch watching Star Wars and my baby girl is sleeping in her crib, and wondering what the hell to do. I am at a loss. Yes, I have hugged my kids, told them I loved them. But how do I look them in the eye and tell them they are safe, after what happened to Martin, a boy watching a marathon? How do I send them off into the world and feel confident that they will return?

I could say something here like, “Live life to its fullest,” or “Don’t take anything for granted.” But what I really want to say is “F-U” to the person who did this. You took Martin. Away from his mother and father. From his brother and sister. You took Krystal Campbell. You took Lu Lingzi. You maimed and hurt so many others. You rocked the foundations of humanity – for a short time. But then, you uncovered a whole lot of other things. Heroes. Light. Community. Love. And I hope that was something you did not expect. I hope you never saw that coming. Coward.

Tonight, I will go for my run. And as I pass by the swaying pines that line my route, I will wish that none of this had happened. I will wish that we didn’t have to live in a world where good and evil clashed to such tragic ends. I will wish that Martin could return to the safety of his mother’s and father’s arms. That Krystal Campbell and Lu Lingzi could return to theirs. I know I don’t have the power to make that happen. But I will wish it anyway. And when I stop wishing for something that cannot be, I will wish for their healing and recovery. And for all the others hurt and scarred, I will wish it for them too. I will wish peace to all my friends affected by this tragedy – and there are a surprising many. Then, I will go home and hug my family. I will go about my business because evil cannot outdo good. And I want to be out and about to see all the good and kindness and love that exists in this sometimes scary world.

Boston Strong.