Six months ago today my phone rang. It was my dad. Tuckered out from a long day outside of Marathon Day festivities, I was half listening. He clearly forgot it was Marathon Monday… why else would he be calling? He was rambling on about a bombing in Boston. Where are you? Where are your friends? I paused. I told my roommate to turn on the TV.
Six months ago today I sat with my seven roommates in my Vandy common room in disbelief.
Six months ago today we thought about Katie, our eighth roommate—who just ran past us on Heartbreak Hill. (Luckily she got rerouted before mile 26.2).
That day six months ago is still on my mind, and no doubt on the minds of many. Even though I do not personally know any of the victims of the Boston Marathon Bombings on April 15, 2013, it felt like I did. You mess with our city, you mess with us.
Since that day, the city of Boston has come a long way. Yet the wounds are still fresh. But we’re moving forward. After all, Big Papi told us to.
We’re tough. We’re resilient. We don’t forget the three who died and the 264 injured. We listen to the stories. We help. We fight.
That day six months ago felt like I had lost a family member. Or a close friend, some important part of me. Because Boston is just that—to me and to many others. I suddenly got visions of all those losses I have endured in my long 19 years: when my favorite teacher in high school suddenly passed away, when my grandfather lost a battle to skin cancer. Boston simply is an extension of myself, and it was a blow in the gut to see it hurting.
Though I have not lived in Boston my whole life, I proudly call Boston my home. My brief seven-year stint in this fine city has taught me how to appreciate a life with determination and grit. Life in Boston after the bombings is emblematic of the city's ability to bounce back after such a tragedy.
We have people all over the world running for us. We remember.
It’s been a six-month marathon. And Boston is still running—strong.
Image courtesy of Jenna LaConte / Gavel Media