This One’s For You, Boston.
An incoming text from a Bostonian friend of mine lights the screen of my phone early Monday morning. It reads everyone in Boston is off today but me. In my usual point-blank manner I replied, yes, it’s Patriot’s Day and Marathon Monday. You should have stayed home.
Little did I realize what kind of meaning those words would take on several hours later.
The tragedy seems unthinkable and unimaginable. A nation reeling in the aftermath of yet another instance of innocent lives being plucked from our earth far too soon. I feel uncomfortable talking about it, for I am so fortunate to not know anyone who was harmed or present on that catastrophic city block as the explosions went off.
I flip on the news Tuesday, it’s five AM, I expect the usual stories of traffic and small town events, for a split second I forget what has happened. As I wipe the morning from my eyes the images from Monday flash like a horror film across the screen.
I get into the car and drive up to Massachusetts for work, my Boston-based radio stations share stories of heroism and hope, fear and loss. I enter through the doors of work and words like amputation, explosion and terror plague the conversations I hear as I walk through a crowded lobby.
But Tuesday morning brought the most lovely orange sunrise I’ve seen in quite awhile. I couldn’t help but recall the blazing hues of pink and orange that washed across the sky the morning following the Sandy Hook Elementary shooting. Like clockwork, the sphere on the horizon shed light on a day filled with what if’s, how come’s and what’s next?
I never have the chance to photograph the sunrise and soft light I witness as I race up Interstate 95 in the morning. But I am occasionally fortunate enough to be home in time to catch the other side of the sun and the way it sits on magnolia blooms and patches of daffodils.
I vow to continue my efforts to find joy in the simplest of things. Stacking them against the reality of uncertainty and the fragile thing we know as life.