Boston really shook me.
I don’t know why it did more so than other tragedies and things that
we’ve faced. I think I reached my
tipping point… just fed up… angry… sad.. scared… reminded me of post 9/11 days,
wandering NYC and trying to pretend things were normal and we were not scared
but you flinch at any thing that looks somewhat weird, sounds strange… but you
try to move on nonetheless.
Even though I haven’t lived extensively in Boston, it still
feels like home. I mean, NJ is home… let
me not mistake anyone. I’m a proud
NJ’sian… but I was born in Boston. I was born in the hospital that many
patients were taken to – Brigham and Women’s.
No big deal but it gave a small sense of connection. Watertown where the shootout was… my best
friend lives really close to there. I’ve
wandered those streets. Another friend’s
fiancé was injured in the blasts – surprised to see him on CNN one night being
interviewed by Piers Morgan. Seeing friends on CNN is most likely never a good
thing. The marathon – I mean, I know we should always be vigilant, but ya know
what? I don’t want to have to think or
worry about things like this happening at races… look when I step on a plane or am in certain
situations, of course the thought crosses my mind that something could happen…
I need to be vigilant.. or just pray hard.. but for races? It’s like the opportunity to get away and focus
on that finish line… not wonder what will happen as I run to the finish
line. I guess it’s a reminder that our
lives are out of our control.
Anyhow, Boston just really rocked me. I tried to go on, and I did on the outside,
but inside I was struggling… spiritually I was just tired. Praying was
hard. Reading the Bible was hard. Crying out to God was hard. I needed someone to remind me of the Gospel,
but I didn’t know how to ask. I wanted to ask, but I didn’t want to ask.
