I feel as though I cannot say anything here without first addressing the terrible events that happened Monday at the Boston Marathon. Over the past couple of days, I've been trying to find a way to temper the deep sadness I feel by focusing on the positive details of that day as presented by the media: stories of people running towards the blasts to offer immediate help to the wounded, reports of marathon runners continuing on to the hospital to donate blood, mentions of the many running groups in all kinds of communities that have since laced up shoes and set to the streets together to honour the victims of the bombings. There is strength and hope in the idea of runners' feet pounding the pavement in a steady, confident group rhythm; it is a show of human solidarity, an outward symbol for the hearts within us that can all beat in unison when we focus on love. Deep down I still believe that there is infinitely more good in the world than bad, and that we cannot let our spirits be crushed by the few among us who choose hatred. We all need to believe this if we are to have any hope for the future of our world.
Today, though, I am still feeling sickened, and tired, and heartbroken. Sickened that someone could take an event that brings people from all over the world together to celebrate the human spirit and, in an instant, turn it into a horrific shattering of limbs and lives. Tired of having to once again hide the morning newspapers from my children to protect them from learning too soon just how ugly our world can be. So deeply saddened to see yet another child's sweet face smiling in a photograph and know that he will never grow up to see his dreams for peace or anything else fulfilled. It is almost too much to bear.
As we have after each awful tragedy that has happened in our history, we humans will get back up and keep moving forward as the days go on, the memories of what we've lost making us ever more determined to help make our world a kinder, gentler place. I hope you'll forgive me if I'm not quite there yet, though. Today, all I really want to do is cry.
Sending love and healing thoughts to all those affected by the Boston Marathon bombings.
When he was small, my youngest son had a habit of filling his pockets with treasures he encountered in his daily adventures. I didn't always understand the value he saw in his chosen objects -- really, how many rocks and sticks could one boy keep? In his eyes, though, each one was beautiful and important. Life is just like that on a larger scale, isn't it? We gather up the precious bits of our experiences and save them all to learn from and enjoy later. Perhaps you'll find a little something here that you'd like to keep in your own pockets. Thanks for visiting.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Labels: family life
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