Grieving Boston

by Carissa

A tearful reunion with my Sole Sisters

I am a traveler on an unfamiliar road.  This is the only time I have had first hand experience with an act of terrorism.  It left me wrecked and emotionally scarred.  Three people lost their lives on Monday afternoon. More than one hundred seventy were physically wounded.  Thousands of others were emotionally wounded.  I am one of the emotionally wounded.

Every day since the marathon I get up and put on my Boston sweatshirt.  It blankets and comforts me.  It is an outward sign that inside all I can think about is Boston.  My heart hurts and there is a dull ache in my stomach.

On Tuesday I flew home.  There was a big crowd at the security check point.  Reporters, family members, people with signs.  They broke into applause as we approached them.  I heard a voice that is now etched into my memory.  A woman calling out, “Good job.  Good job runners.”  The emotion welled up in me.  I spotted my family and my two youngest boys came sprinting towards me like they were running the 50 meter dash.  I wrapped my arms around them for enormous bear hugs.  Next I surrendered to my husband’s strong embrace.  For the first time I was reunited with my eight-year-old son and mother-in-law.  In Boston we had bid each other goodbye in the family meeting area minutes before the bombs exploded.  My mother-in-law broke down a bit as we hugged and exchanged comments about how sad and scary it was.

Without much sleep under my belt I woke up Wednesday.  I didn’t realize how shell shocked I had been the first two days until I found myself Wednesday morning in a very different emotional state. I was sad and traumatized.  For the next few hours I cried off and on.  The kids wouldn’t stop misbehaving: I cried.  I got in the car to bring them to school: I cried.  A worship song played on the radio: I cried.  I saw friends for the first time since returning back home: I cried.  I spied a woman running down the street: I cried.

I was a little less raw by the time I sat down with my Sole Sisters for coffee.  They squeezed me tight, listened, offered to help and showed me how very deeply they care.  Of course they aren’t the only ones.  All around me people are showing me how much they care about me and love me: hugs, notes, prayers and phone calls.  I am humbled by how deep and wide I am loved and supported.  I know that this is the Father’s hands reaching down to me through the people in my everyday life.

I am slowly beginning to grasp how much I am hurting.  I also realized I want to go back in 2014.  I want to be a part of the Boston marathon that responds to what happened on April 15th, 2013.  Even though I finished the marathon on Monday, celebrating that finish was robbed from me.  I want to return for healing and closure.

At the memorial jog

A memorial jog was organized on Wednesday night to pay tribute to the victims of the Boston marathon bombing.  I knew I needed to be there.  My roommates and I reunited to go to the event with a few good friends by our sides.  It felt comforting to be back together with my roommates.  They understand like no one else what I had experienced on Monday.  We navigated through this senseless act together.  

Around me life carries on.  I try to carry on with it but I am not ready.  I may be reading to my children or preparing a meal but in my mind it’s BOSTON.  My heart aches over BOSTON.  What can I do?   I take each day slowly and wait for BOSTON to become Boston.