My God, what an insane week we just had; one that will certainly go down in history, not in a way that a City or Town really wants to be remembered, but even with all the violence and hate, those involved worked hard to come to a dignifying outcome and with so many brave and triumphant moments in between. I don't think I've ever gone through so many emotions in such a short amount of time. Those 5 days, my heart really ran the gambit - happy to sad, enthusiasm to despair, good vs evil... and just utter shock.
Monday (the 15th) was Patriot's Day, the Massachusetts state holiday celebrating Paul Revere's ride and the bravery of the Colonials back in 1776 and also the day that the Boston Marathon is run, but now suddenly historic for a different reason. I knew I wouldn't be taking the kids into the city to see the race, as I'd done many times myself before having kids, and I didn't get my act together in time to get them to the re-enactment and parade in Lexington and Concord. Maybe next year, I'd said, and after watching some of the Marathon on TV with my son, Quinn, we ended up doing something mundane like grocery shopping. We had lunch, went for a walk to enjoy the beautiful sunny 55-degree day, put the twins down for their naps. Shortly thereafter, at about 3:30 p.m., my phone lit up - emails, texts, phone calls... The call was my husband calling to make sure we were at home, that I hadn't taken the kids into the City - he said that two bombs had gone off at the Finish Line of the Boston Marathon and it was really bad. My heart absolutely sank; I wasn't anywhere close to downtown but it just felt so close to home, as I used to work in the city for years, had been to go to the finish line several times, and the Boston area has been my home for 10 years now. How could this be happening? The girls were still in bed, and I couldn't resist the urge to turn the TV on to see what was happening. And it was bad... very bad - videos from the finish line showed an explosion in the crowd, runners falling to the ground, the flags that were waving in the wind burst forward and then lay still against their poles, people covered their ears, then screams of terror and agony. Police officers, two military men in fatigues, a man in a big cowboy hat, other marathon workers began tearing down a metal barricade with their bare hands to get to the injured spectators behind it, and 12 seconds later, a second bomb went off about 4 blocks away, before the finish line. I turned a show on for Quinn in the playroom, as I just could not tear myself away from the tv. Horrible images of blood all over the sidewalk, mangled faces, wheelchairs of people without legs, bodies lying helpless in the street. Just pure evil and tragedy, three innocent people dead, yet so many amazing people helping complete strangers, rushing them to ambulances and medical tents, using the shirt off the back to make a tourniquet. And so many unanswered questions - why would someone do this? who did this and where are they now? why did the target the innocent spectators and average-time marathoners? were they done? I was heartsick, horrified, deeply saddened, but definitely still in shock that this had happened in Boston.
Tuesday dawned with still no answers. No suspects and no progress seemed to have been made overnight. They found pieces of the two bombs, which had been placed in nylon backpacks, in pressure cookers packed with explosives, nails, and bb's. The lid to one bomb was found on a building's roof. There were stories of additional bombs that had been found but diffused; I still don't know if those reports were true. We went to a friend's house in the afternoon for a play date; her husband, who works as a lawyer in the Prudential Center (which overlooks Copley where the bombing took place), was working from home, as he wasn't ready to return to the city yet. It felt good to talk with them, to compare details and reports we'd heard, to hear her husband's experience having been looking out the window watching when the first explosion happened. It was scary to hear that there didn't seem to be any more information leading to a motive and there were still no suspects. I hated the thoughts that this could go unsolved, that the hateful people who did this could get away with it, but surely they'd fled town immediately following the attach and could be long gone by then. The identities of the three who had been killed were released. I couldn't bear hearing their stories, learning of the lives they'd led before the attacks which had been taken from them, one victim was an 8-year old boy; I couldn't look at the faces of their families. We learned that over 150 people had been injured and treated, of which many had limbs blown off on impact or had to have amputations later at the hospitals... It was all just too painful.
On Wednesday, I decided that we would get out and enjoy the beautiful day we'd been given. No hiding and being fearful for us. I dressed the kids warmly, packed snacks, and whisked them off to Drumlin Farm. We had a great time - the kids love the Farm, and it was sunny and warm, a perfectly blue sky, lots of baby animals and old favorites to see, too. We left in time for a picnic lunch at home. Just simple, pure fun, for the kids and for me, too. I checked the news in the evening, only to find that there wasn't really anything new, and I felt like as more time passed since the attacks, it seemed like they would never catch the hateful maniac who did this horrible thing. I had to leave it alone, try to get some distance, and cautiously try to move on.
On Thursday morning, a small sense of security was beginning to re-emerge. We were headed for another play date, this time back to our old "hometown" of Watertown, with our best friends who we'd met during birthing class with our oldest children; Quinn, Peter, Maddie, and Finnoula. I lived in Watertown for 8 years - my husband and I settled there in August 2002 when we moved to the Boston area; we rented for 3 years, and then owned a condo for 5 years right in the heart of Watertown Square. I love Watertown; the feel of community, the proximity and ease of getting down into Boston, the restaurants and shops and playgrounds and amenities - we gladly would have stayed in Watertown except that housing prices are very expensive, and we just couldn't find a single family house with a yard and enough space for our family as it was growing exponentially, at the time. Having walked Quinn around the Town in his little stroller for the first two years of his life, I know Watertown like the back of my hand, there are few streets that I haven't been down there, and it's just a comforting and familiar place for us - we still make the 25 minute drive every Sunday to attend our same church there, where we used to walk to from our condo, where all three of our children were baptized.
We met these three other families at Isis Maternity while pregnant with our oldests, and though Peter's family and mine have moved a little farther away now, everytime we get back together, it is always like we've never been apart. The kids fall into a comfortable pattern of play, and the younger siblings - my girls, Peter's sister Sara, and littlests, Juliet and Ewan - are the next wave of fun. They want to be just like the big kids, and it's so heartwarming to see them all getting along together and having simple, joyful fun (even despite any hiccup that might happen, as with all child's play, it's not the end of the world). And it's always great to talk with the other Mom's, who I feel like I can share anything with; we are just comfortable and open with each other, and I feel so at ease being with these friends. We've shared so much together, from our birth stories with all of our children, parenting stresses and concerns from newborn Day 1, miscarriages, personal feelings, family stories and secrets, supporting one another as women and mothers, and so so SO much laughter. That morning, we, of course, talked about the marathon bombings, where we'd each been when we'd found out, any breaking news we'd heard, but so many other topics came up, the conversation just flowed like it always does. But all good play dates have to come to an end, so around 11:30, we packed up and headed home, taking a short drive around my old stomping grounds on our way. We had another play date in Sudbury in the afternoon, with the friends we'd seen on Tuesday afternoon, whose husband was still working from home, not wanting to deal with the chaos and crime scene in the city. I watched the news that evening, while making dinner, because the authorities finally had a break - after reviewing 10's of 1000's of videos and photographs, they found the two bombing suspects. The two men, one wearing a black hat and sunglasses, followed by a second man, wearing a white hat backwards, big noses, both carrying nylon backpacks, turned the corner according to a store's surveillance camera. Other photos showed them dropping the bags at the two locations, the man with the white hat was also pictured minutes after the blasts making a cellphone call, as though he had waited to watch the misery. My mind was racing, my heart pounding - just seeing these men, knowing that they had worked together to erase lives and purposely cause death and pain to as many people as possible. It was so disturbing and sickening to think of how they had selected where to place the bags (beforehand? or did they decide once they saw who was standing where?), they targeted the poor Richard's family and other bystanders, they knew exactly who was about to be intentionally harmed by those bombs... Contrary to my usual nighttime routine, I went to bed around 11 p.m., which is early for me, just feeling mentally and emotionally drained, exhausted from several nights of nightmare-interrupted sleep. I tried to block the thoughts from my mind, and get some rest.
Friday morning, I drifted awake as Quinn climbed into my bed around 6 a.m. Doug was already in the bathroom getting ready for work. Shortly thereafter, I heard him talking to someone, his voice echoed on the bathroom walls... or was he talking to one of the girls? No, he came into our room and said that our friend Shaun had just called (a guy who lives by texts and email and tweets, but does not talk on the phone) - they were on lock-down in their condo in Waltham, the town just west of Watertown, where I'd just been the day before. I set Quinn up with some Lego's on our bedroom floor, the girls were still sleeping, and I rushed downstairs and turned on the TV. Sure enough, there had been a lot of activity and developments overnight. The photos released the night before had panned out, and the white hat suspect was caught on a 7-11 store camera in Cambridge, wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt but the same brown curly hair and big nose. They had names for the two suspects now, Tamerlan and Dzhohar Tsarnaev, 26 and 19 year old brothers, originally from Chechnya; they knew where they lived in an apartment in Cambridge, were piecing together their lives since coming to the US around 2000. After the 7-11 visit, they murdered Officer Sean Collier, an MIT Police officer, then hijacked a black SUV and raced westward, ending up in Watertown, of all places, where police recognized the vehicle and the newest photo. A high-speed chase ensued, during which the suspects were throwing explosives, including another pressure cooker, out at the police cars following them, they were cornered and a massive gunfight broke out, seriously injuring public transit officer Richard Donohue, and critically wounding the 26 year old suspect (who later died at the hospital); the younger one then jumped into the SUV, backed over his brother to get away, but then ended up fleeing on foot, supposedly wearing a suicide vest and carrying a bag of guns and explosives. The Watertown police managed to determine a 20-block perimeter of where the suspect could have ended up before the sun came up. They issued a multi-town lockdown - the entire city of Boston, Watertown, Belmont, Waltham, and a couple of other towns - every person was to lock their doors, draw their blinds, and stay inside until further notice. Most people in the 20-block area were evacuated, though as I watched throughout the morning, there were many close calls and suspicious houses being searched, as the authorities went door to door, searching homes and yards, trying to locate the hiding suspect who was considered armed and very dangerous. I was just in disbelief that this was all happening in my old town of Watertown, where I'd just been the day before, with my kids, playing out in the open at a playground we'd been to a million times. And here now, in our old town was a major crime scene only a mile or so from our old condo, with news stations broadcasting from places I knew well and had frequented in my time living there - houses we'd looked at buying, stores I went to all the time, my old mechanic, the sandwich shop and carwash, the Target and Friendly's that I'd just been by the day before, the street I used to cut down, the bus line I lived on for many years as a commuter. This was my town and these were my people - normal, middle-class, hardworking and proud, ethnically diverse, with loving families, hearts of gold... And I was suddenly very concerned about my new town, my current location - what if the suspect had gotten away and wasn't in Watertown at all? What if he fled west and could be closer than that, and desperate to get away? And why hadn't they left town yet? They'd spent the days since their heinous attack trying to get back to normal themselves; the younger one in the white cap had attended his college classes, went to a party in his dorm, went to the gym. The older one had a wife and two-year old daughter. How were all those regular people they'd encountered in the past days any different from the ones they'd just mutilated in the city? Had they been planning more attacks? Is that why they left their apartment with bags of guns and explosives on Thursday night? Was younger brother following his brother along or was he just as corrupt as big brother?
I took a break from the TV to get the kids outside in our yard Friday morning - it was 70 and mostly sunny, just too irresistible to stay inside hiding in uncertainty and fear. I was definitely watchful and on edge the entire time though, watching the fences on all sides of our yard, half-expecting someone to jump over them at any time, but I felt a little better that neighbors were out front of their houses, riding bikes in the street. I checked the news in the playroom while Quinn was upstairs, and then had it on and off when my friend Joanne brought her two 5-year olds over to play. We talked at length about the bombings, new reports from the day, things she had read (she always seems to be better informed than me!)... After dinner, our neighbors came over to watch as the news unfolded, or didn't unfold - we didn't know what the case would be and what the night would hold. My in-laws arrived and we put Quinn to bed, and finally, I poured myself into the breaking news, the tv reports, the state police scanner online.
We watched the live feed on TV, of the barricades up and down Mt. Auburn St, blocks from our old condo. We saw the replay of events from the afternoon - the lock-down had been lifted for areas outside the 20-block perimeter; homeowner David Henneberry who lives just outside the perimeter went out to his yard to check things out, saw blood on his boat, lifted the tarp, and sure enough, there was a bleeding man inside with dark, curly hair; he alerted the police immediately, and shortly thereafter, around 7 p.m., a solid 10 minutes gunfire ensued. I cannot imagine being that homeowner, gingerly walking his yard after a day on lock-down, only to find blood, and then having the courage to investigate further when a murderer is on the loose! We all owe him a huge thank you, he is a true hero!
After the 7 p.m. showering of gunfire, we heard reports of police trying to determine if the suspect was still armed, whether he was wearing a suicide vest, whether they could work out a surrender, how injured was he. The police scanner seemed to have information sooner, and around 9:30 p.m., we heard "captured! got him!" and minutes later, the television echoed that report. The final suspect in the Boston Bombing was finally in custody, after a massive manhunt. I think we all clapped in the room, and smiled profusely. It was just such a major relief, and I felt so much pride in the cities and towns and all the work they did to catch this guy. I can only imagine how much intelligence went into it, so many things that happened behind the scenes, that the public wasn't aware of. We continued to watch on TV as the streets of Watertown filled with the residents who had been on lock-down all day, who had been peeping out their windows and watching on TV as things unfolded only streets away. We saw three girls we know from church, people cheering and clapping and saluting the police officers in the area. I was filled with pride at their efforts, of the community I saw before me, remembering that we had once been a part of that same town. It was amazing how just that same morning I was so thankful that my children and I didn't live there anymore, and now, at the end of the day and the end of this wild week, I wished that we could be there to be part of the community, with those people. I was so relieved that the hunt was over, although I knew that the work was far from over. Hopefully the emotional rollercoaster is over now and my blood pressure - everyone's for that matter - can go back to normal, and justice can be served. I hope "he" cooperates to make up for the all that wrong doing, even if only in a tiny way. I hope it helps those affected most to heal.
Over the past couple weeks, I've really come to find a sense of pride in living here in the Boston area, and just a renewed feeling of patriotism as an American. I will always be a Pennsylvanian at Heart, but I have to admit that this is a good place to live, too. The strong history, the good people willing to take a stand and help complete strangers in need... I like to think that the same can be true for any place in the United States, and we can see that is true when these sad tragedies that take us by surprise. I remember hearing the "Star Spangled Banner" from such a young age, learning the words dutifully, singing it in school, before football games in high school, at professional sporting events now. It wasn't really until this week, thinking about the meaning of the words during memorials for those lost and injured in the Boston Marathon Bombings, that it really hit me how meaningful the words are that Francis Scott Key chose back in 1814 - "the land of the free and the home of the brave"... Patriot's Day will have a new meaning for me now based on the tragedy and the triumph of 2013.
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