Being on the road and in back-to-back meetings for the last three days, I haven’t had time to digest and process the Boston Marathon incident until tonight. I heard about it during a meeting with a media bud who was late to a lunch since he was covering the story and had to file before leaving the office. His brow was strained as he said, “sorry I’m late, but I was buried deep in the Boston tragedy.”
My heart raced…..he didn’t at first mention the Marathon, so after my mind darted from massive fire to a senseless shooting along the lines of what happened in a Colorado theatre, he went on, seeing that I hadn’t heard the news. But, I only heard fragments since part of me was trying to glue together a puzzle, a puzzle of what I didn’t quite know, but the words just came flowing out: Bombs. Finish Line. Explosion. Deaths. Bloody Legs.
Terrorism I asked? Chris didn’t know. It was too early to tell.
Boston had been my home for over ten years and I had experienced Boylston Street’s chaotic crowds for many a’ Spring watching friends and even on one occasion, a boyfriend cross the finish line. I worked with the Massachusetts Association for the Blind when I was in my twenties, and watched blind runners I was helping to raise money for equipment they needed, cross that very same finish line.
Personally, I’ve never been a runner so have never quite understood the intense satisfaction and glorious reward a runner must feel after so much training, to then “high five” loved ones as he or she made it to the end, some not quite knowing they would. I’ve known many people participate over the years – some of them trying to improve their time from the previous year, some trying to prove that they had the endurance to make it at all, and others who flew in from other cities because they considered the Boston Marathon a race they must do at least once in their lifetime.
In my later Boston years, we stopped going every year since as I grew older, fewer and fewer people I knew participated and more often than not, friends wanted to avoid the crowds and the chaos of what those crowds brought, none of which is the type of chaos that poor Bostonians experienced this year. The chaos we were trying to avoid wasn’t unlike New Yorker’s fleeing the city during New Year’s Eve or local Brazilians heading to the country at Carnival time.
That said, my early Boston Marathon memories are precious – we were young and so we’d do anything to support our friends and their causes, adventures and missions in life. When Chris referenced the Marathon as the location for the tragedy (oh my god, terrorism an internal voice whispered loudly), I realized that my insanely overbooked schedule of the forthcoming few days wouldn’t allow me to digest this incident in a way I desperately wanted to and needed to.
And so, like doctors who deal with the dying every day, and can’t get emotional about every patient they treat, I forced myself to feel very little for 48 hours so I wouldn’t let emotion negatively impact my ability to execute the insane schedule I spent nearly 80 hours creating, with very little sleep in the process. I couldn’t afford to, or at least that’s what my corporate voice said, the sad and stupid one that is driven by revenue and head and not heart and contribution.
When the news came up in passing discussions of which didn’t consume the west coast like I imagine it did in New England and the northern East Coast, I nodded and shook my head in disbelief like everyone else I ran into over the last three days. I kept those nods rational for the most part, for I knew that diving into the photos, the interviews and the stories of the victims, survivors and families which I spent time doing last night, would distract me too much to succeed in the delicate execution of a “schedule”, the one people were counting on me to deliver.
And so, I didn’t spend time reflecting on Boston like I did late into last night, fighting the tears until I couldn’t fight them anymore, as I scrolled through photo after photo, seeing faces of dead children and twenty year old vibrant faces who never finished their lives, and all for what?
Then. to see a visual of 27-year old Jeff Bauman’s tattered bloody limbs as he left the scene after a bomb blew his lower half to pieces, was enough to put anyone over the edge.
I realized that I heard about 9/11 while shifting furniture around in my Boston apartment with an old high school friend from upstate New York.
The phone rang. An old boyfriend from many moons ago. Australian. The line was muffled. Not clear. Slightly breathless, he asked if I was okay. Not a man to ramble, he began to, until I stopped him and said whoah, slow down. He spoke of bombs, of terrorism, of massive buildings collapsing. New York City. I heard snippets most of which bypassed my memory bank because all of seemed so Hollywood to me, so much so that I dismissed it as some over exaggerated American sensationalism and sick humor. Then, his voice turned serious. “Turn on the F-G TV”, and so I did and…..even then….I still dismissed it. It must be some movie re-run of sorts I thought, until I saw that the station was CNN and then suddenly began to absorb what I had just heard.
I tried not to go to “that” place when I heard about the Boston explosion, for when I lived in London, I prepared myself for several years of urban life in the city which consisted of occasional IRA explosions in bars, trains and on busy streets. I had lived in Johannesburg when bombs went off less than a mile away from the ritziest suburbs of the city….close enough where you could see smoke filling the air from the after maths while wealthy whites sipped Sauvignon Blanc from crystal and ate strawberries topped with whipped cream as the men prepared a “braai” in the back of the yard. I lived in an Israel that was never entirely safe and within months, not years, friends I left behind were buying designer gas masks, something which became part of their every day life.
Maybe Boston is not the kind of terrorism that we all fear most…you know, the foreign kind from “over there,” in the religious lands American natives can’t get their heads around. We still don’t know, and even if we did, those details or lack of them, don’t comfort those who lost someone on April 15 near on Boston’s Boylston Street. All they can and must feel, is pain, terror, anger and excruciating loss of a senseless death of someone close to them.
A few days into the incident, more than sixty victims of Monday’s bombings at the Boston Marathon remain hospitalized, including a dozen who are in critical condition. Seeing the faces of those who are no longer with us — Lu Lingzi, a 23-year-old Boston University student from China; 8-year-old spectator Martin Richard; and 29-year-old spectator Krystle Campbell — brought tears to my eyes just when I thought I could shoo them away. As I dove deeper into stories, I learned that more than 170 people — runners, couples, spectators, children — were injured, some in critical condition and some who have lost limbs or senses. From a hairstylist on upscale Newbury Street, to an 11 year old with serious leg wounds and newlyweds who both lost their left legs below the knee, they are among dozens and dozens whose lives will be forever changed.
And for what? We are all asking ourselves that question. For what purpose? What message is it that they are trying to convey with such horrific violence? Who are they trying to scare and why? What does this victimization and terror do for them and for those who are potentially driving a much greater and more dangerous mission?
Dr. Oz spoke about love and how love and community will be the healing factor necessary for Boston. President Obama praised Boston’s resilience, their compassion and their strength. The community has bonded together people say, in a way that New Yorker’s did after 9/11. Americans are not accustomized to terrorism on their own soil — not before 9/11 and not after, until now…..if this is in fact what it is. This country may forever be changed if subsequent incidents become part of every day life, as they have in Ireland, London, Israel, South Africa and other volatile places in the world.
On this white slab of paper which isn’t really paper, but a glaring white digital screen that calls for my feelings to be spilled, I write and write and write and this is what pours out on this very sad evening as I reflect on those we, as a nation, have lost. I embrace you Boston, my old home…never forgotten, and send you strength, courage, love and faith, to get through this tragic time, a city poorly chosen as Obama said in his speech.
Boston, have the strength, courage and emotional and spiritual capacity to heal as a city, one of my favorite blessed cities in this country. And, most importantly now, I hope you will get the much deserved support and love from other communities around this massive resilient country.
Renee Blodgett is the founder of We Blog the World. The site combines the magic of an online culture and travel magazine with a global blog network and has contributors from every continent in the world. Having lived in 10 countries and explored nearly 80, she is an avid traveler, and a lover, observer and participant in cultural diversity.
She is also the CEO and founder of Magic Sauce Media, a new media services consultancy focused on viral marketing, social media, branding, events and PR. For over 20 years, she has helped companies from 12 countries get traction in the market. Known for her global and organic approach to product and corporate launches, Renee practices what she pitches and as an active user of social media, she helps clients navigate digital waters from around the world. Renee has been blogging for over 16 years and regularly writes on her personal blog Down the Avenue, Huffington Post, BlogHer, We Blog the World and other sites. She was ranked #12 Social Media Influencer by Forbes Magazine and is listed as a new media influencer and game changer on various sites and books on the new media revolution. In 2013, she was listed as the 6th most influential woman in social media by Forbes Magazine on a Top 20 List.
Her passion for art, storytelling and photography led to the launch of Magic Sauce Photography, which is a visual extension of her writing, the result of which has led to producing six photo books: Galapagos Islands, London, South Africa, Rome, Urbanization and Ecuador.
Renee is also the co-founder of Traveling Geeks, an initiative that brings entrepreneurs, thought leaders, bloggers, creators, curators and influencers to other countries to share and learn from peers, governments, corporations, and the general public in order to educate, share, evaluate, and promote innovative technologies.
