0 Boston Tradition

I woke up yesterday with a heavy heart and unable to articulate the overwhelming feelings that were occupying my brain. I was not at the race and thank God everyone I know is safe and healthy. However, I was not ready to move forward and rejoin the rest of Tufts campus. I was not ready to participate in discussions about the Islamophobia and the incorrect news coverage surrounding Monday's events. Instead I was in mourning for Boston.

I was in mourning for the families affected by the explosions. I was in mourning for the feeling of safety that used to exist on these streets. But more than that I was in morning for the traditions and our childhoods. 

The Boston Marathon is a part of all of our histories as Bostonians. We learned how to mulitask by listening to the Sox game and watch the Marathon at the same time.  Every year we would watch for the Hoyts: a remarkable father who pushes his son in a wheelchair through the entire course (and has completed 30 Boston Marathons). We would join the scream tunnel at Wellesley or Boston College. There would be BBQ's in High School and cheering on our future college marathon teams. 

All of that was shattered on Monday. This year the Hoyt's were stopped a mile from finishing and had to abandon Rick's wheelchair to get out of the city as quickly as possible. This year college students spent the afternoon crying instead of cheering on the runners. This year a city spent the day glued to the news trying to find any information, trying to understand. 

Monday was supposed to be a holiday, a Red Sox game, and a marathon tradition.  That the soulless monsters responsible for this chose the Marathon, a holiday/city-wide block party that is wholly ours, suggests they were aiming for maximum casualty and chaos. They underestimated Boston and its strength. 

But the feeling of vulnerability and sadness will not be shaken for a while.