Hello, readers! I am back after 10 days of fun in the sun down in Florida – the long-awaited trip St. Nick surprised the kiddos with at Christmas. I have a bunch of posts planned with my thoughts and reviews on our hotels, the parks, traveling with a toddler and why you absolutely need a stroller for a 6-year-old at Disney World, so be sure to check back over the next week or so. But there is something I need to do first.
I know so much has been said and written about what happened in Boston last week. I don’t want to add to the noise, but I never got a chance to share my thoughts and feelings on the tragedy, or attempt to articulate what this city means to me. So please bear with me.
We were standing in 90 degree heat at Hollywood Studios last week when we heard the news via text message: there was a bombing at the Boston Marathon. Dr. G. and I were with our friends J and M (it was J who got the first text message from a worried relative), and we began frantically searching online for any tidbits of information, all of us desperate to find out what was happening back home. It was the most most bizarre feeling: we stood there in a circle, engrossed in this horrible, terrible story, and meanwhile, our kids sat innocently oblivious on a stone wall, enjoying the shade and some ice cream cones.
A thousands thoughts raced through my mind. I knew people who were running, volunteering and simply watching the race. Were they okay? I thought of all my fellow runners, my heart breaking for them, knowing the time and dedication it takes to prepare for a race like this, and how their dreams – and their safety – were now in danger. I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that this tragedy had unfolded in an area I knew like the back of my hand, and couldn’t believe the horrific images I was seeing, photos that resembled something out of a disaster movie. And, of course, I panicked wondering about who could have done something this, and why, and whether they would strike again.
Sadly, most of those questions have now been answered (and thankfully everyone I know is okay), but trust me when I say it was incredibly surreal to be in the safe, make-believe cocoon of Disney when such horrible things were unfolding at home.
For the next week, whenever a friendly Disney employee would make small talk and ask where I was from, I would immediately reply, “Boston,” as I always do (even though I live in the suburbs and probably spend more time in neighboring Rhode Island). Of course, once they heard that, their expression would suddenly change, their formerly sunny smile fading, their expression changing to one of pity. No one actually mentioned what happened (maybe its an unspoken rule at Disney that you can’t refer to sad, tragic events) but they obviously knew. And I didn’t elaborate either … perhaps because I still couldn’t process the fact that the city I love was under attack.
My relationship with the city of Boston goes back nearly 20 years. Like tens of thousands of other college students each year, I arrived there as a naive 18-year-old freshman and immediately fell in love with this beautiful, quirky, historic, cosmopolitan place that was so unlike my own hometown only an hour away. In the passing years, I would eventually live in other cities, but Boston never left me, and I always managed to find my way back home.
Because in that time, Boston became a part of me.
It’s the city where I fell in love for the first time and, many years later at a costume party in the shadows of the former Fleet Center, for the last time.
All of my memories of the early days of my relationship with Dr. G., and how I fell in love with him, are intertwined with Boston: how he met me outside my office on Boylston Street (just blocks from the bombing site) for our first date, a bouquet of flowers in hand. How we spent our third or fourth date exploring the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum followed by the most amazing Thai food at Brown Sugar Cafe in the Fens, where he taught me how to properly use chopsticks. How we took sailing lessons on the Charles River and got caught in a torrential downpour, so completely soaked by time we got back that we were both laughing hysterically.
It’s the city where I made mistakes and learned some tough – and often bittersweet – life lessons that still guide me today.
It’s the city where I pursued my career and stumbled across a sub-speciality in my field where I still find myself today.
It’s where I became a grown-up, an adult, and discovered the woman I was meant to be.
Over the last week, I realized that it doesn’t matter what my zip code says, because in my heart I am a Bostonian, and no tragedy or cowardly act of terrorism can take away what this city means to me … and how it has shaped the person I am today.
Cheryl says
I used to live around the corner from Brown Sugar, on Park Drive. It’s amazing how much this city has impacted us all. Glad you had a good trip.
Jackie Hennessey says
I’m so grateful that you wrote this post. I’m still in shock. Stay Boston Strong. You are a rock, Jessica, and I thank you so much for your words, and your perspective.
Elizabeth Atalay says
I love that picture of the CITGO sign, I also posted a photo I had taken of the CITGO sign the Boston bombing happened, it is such a symbol of the city where I grew up. It must have been sureal to be so far away when everything was going on!
Chelley / AisForAdelaide says
Beautiful mama. I’m glad everyone you knew there is safe and that you yourself were out of harms way.
Sharon - MomGenerations.com says
Beautifully said. It’s incredible to hear the stories of the people of and from Boston. Boston is in my blood, too. My great-grandparents settled in Brighton, having left their homes and families in Ireland. My grandparents met in Boston and my grandfather became a Boston firefighter. My Mom was born and grew up in Brighton, spending her childhood and young adulthood in and out of her beloved City. My uncle was training for the Boston Marathon when he enlisted in the US Navy during WW II. I can’t begin to count the hours, days, weeks, years I’ve spent in Boston, living there as a child and returning to this day to visit relatives… returning, too, as a graduate student at Boston University. My daughter Jane qualified for and ran Boston in 2010, the same year my son Keith ran Boston for Children’s Hospital Boston and my son-in-law has qualified and run 4 times. We’ve stood at the Finish. Our hearts and minds are numb… but our spirits and souls are alive and strong with Boston. There are no words and there are millions of words. Thank you for this post…
Mary Larsen says
What a honest and powerful post. I’m still in shock that such a terrible thing could have happened in our own backyard.
Glad your loved ones are all safe!
Jessica Smock says
This really moved me. I am away from Boston too and learned there too for many years. We moved away last year — although I’m technically still a doctoral student at Boston University — but I had never felt so much like a Bostonian at heart after the marathon bombing. I never realized how deeply I felt about this city and how deep my ties are to all of the places and events that make Boston so special.
Jessica says
Well said! And thanks for stopping by (us BU girls have to stick together :>)