Yes, I am from from Boston. Jersey girl born and raised, but I am a transplant, and this is my home. Obviously, you can't read, listen, or watch anything without hearing about the city. It's impossible. I am what so many other Bostonians are- shocked, confused, and really freaking angry. I am ridiculously thankful that all of my friends are present and accounted for- albeit very, very impacted. My nearest and dearest was in the Lenox Hotel bathroom, and texted me immediately. "There was a bomb but I am OK." My return text was asinine- "Like a glitter bomb? That's so cool!" (it hadn't even hit the news yet) and she was like, um, no, an actual explosive device. Oy. That's when the world went a little sideways and it was auto pilot. Call husband (working on race route); call parents to reassure safety; drive like hell to get kids from school; rush home to never, ever, leave again. Yeah, well, that's not reasonable. That's what I WANT to do, but not what I WILL do. I am avoiding the gratuitous news coverage, and am sticking to NPR for information. Of course, I can't avoid social media and won't even try. What gets to me is the pictures of Yankee Stadium, or the cartoon from the New Yorker. Buckets of tears. If anyone gets the way a Bostonian feels right now, it's a New Yorker. That breaks my heart. I am so thankful for the "helper trucks"- doctors, nurses, EMT's, veterans, runners, walkers. We are all trying to be helpers in our own way.
Really though? It makes me really f'ing angry. I want to wear Patriots, Celtics, Red Sox and Bruins jerseys all at once, while running (ha, um moseying) the marathon while doing a St. Paddy's Day pub crawl, eating lobster rolls and drinking Sam Adams. I want to smother myself in Boston stereotypes. I want to ride the duck tours, and go to the science museum, and walk the Freedom Trail, and nibble my way through Fanuil Hall. Not right now though. Right now I want to cry over lost innocence, and snuggle my boys.
No comments:
Post a Comment