On a Day of Tragedy, a Guest Post from a Bostonian

Yesterday was another day that shook me to my core. I’ve realized that my kids will never grow up in the same world that I did. And I have this sinking feeling that the aggressive nature of mankind will eventually destroy this beautiful planet we were given. I hope I’m wrong.

I wasn’t going to post anything today. It’s not a day to talk about celiac disease. But I received an email from our own Irish Heart about yesterday’s tragic events and she asked me if I would put it on my blog.

Of course I will. Here it is.

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Today was NOT a beautiful day in my neighborhood. Why? Because cowards ruined it.

My very sweet and compassionate friend, Lisa, who lives in California, sent this message to me tonight to remind me that despite the horror of the day’s events, good people always show their true colors. And despite the events of the last 20 years or so, I still believe good always triumphs evil. Always.

The helpers–the people who courageously run toward the horror of any tragedy, not away from it–well, that’s what is essentially good about human beings.

I am proud to be a Bostonian, born and bred. Even though I have lived in New York for nearly 29 years, when people ask me “where are you from?”, I still automatically say “Boston”.

Tonight, my heart is sick. I always enjoyed Patriot’s Day in Boston! It is a holiday for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts and a rite of passage into springtime. It’s the day of the Boston Marathon and a Red Sox game.

Good, clean fun.

That day holds only good memories for me of times spent with friends, some of whom completed that Marathon more than once. During one of those marathons 30 years ago, while I was celebrating part of that day in the Eliot Lounge (a very cool bar that no longer exists), my boyfriend proposed to me. Our time together is long past, but I still remember that day and the way I felt.

It was a day full of hope and joy and endless possibilities. That’s how young people should always feel.

My hometown is a place of strong, rebellious, patriotic, fun and proud people. They will survive this ordeal and remain steadfast (and whomever perpetrated this crime has messed with the wrong people.) Like New York, Oklahoma City , Atlanta, Newtown and any other city where cowards have taken lives and created destruction, the residents will rise up and move forward.

That’s the resilience of the American people. That’s the spirit of patriotism.

The Boston Marathon is symbolic of the human spirit. It’s a testimony to endurance and strength. It’s a day where people of all nations come together to celebrate life. Often, people run in support of a good cause or in memory of others who are battling a disease or of those who have died at the hands of cowards.

Some people were doing the 26 miles today in memory of the 26 victims of Newtown. Now, their anguish is doubled.

Bombing a crowd of innocent people who are just enjoying springtime and an event that gathers good people together–well, that’s just the work of some seriously sick bastards. I propose that when they are found, they should skip the trial and save the Commonwealth the expense. Why bother? They are guilty. Period. Fry them.

I never, in my wildest dreams as a young, idealistic, naive young thing ever thought I would utter such words. But I am not young, idealistic or naive any longer. Terrorists changed all that for me nearly 20 years ago.

And now, an entire generation has grown up living in fear. Mothers and fathers have to worry about every single thing they do, for fear they will be harmed. I grew up fearless. I never worried that someone would shoot, bomb, or purposefully hurt me. I rode subways alone at age 11 and I rode my bike everywhere. We left doors unlocked. No one bothered us as we played stick ball in the streets. No one came into our school with a gun or flew planes into buildings.

I weep for the children of today. They will always know fear.

And I fear it will only get worse.

Just when we have started to put yet another senseless tragedy behind us, it happened again.

So, I will try to focus on the helpers, those very good people in the world who always come running to the aid of others, and try to convince myself that the world is not (as my grandmother used to say) “going straight to hell in a hand basket”.

We can’t let these bastards win. We just can’t.