Boston blasts: Cowardly acts like this maim our souls

Right now there’s a man holding his head in his hands wondering how his entire world came crashing down in a matter of seconds. 

His little boy dead, his daughter maimed for life and a wife who might be permanently brain damaged because a coward successfully detonated two bombs at the Boston Marathon.  

Some well-meaning family member or friend will tell him to hold on, to fight through this and stay strong but the physical pain from the emotional devastation will be insurmountable.  How could this happen, how could this happen?

What will he tell his little girl or his other son or what, if she’s lucky to come out of her operation successfully, will he tell his poor wife about their lost son?

While he is helpless to do anything for the most important people in his life, he’ll wish it had happened to him. 

Anything would be better than standing in a hospital waiting; waiting for news of survival and waiting for any kind of relief from this nightmare.

There will be flowers and funerals and make-shift memorials but it won’t matter. It won’t matter how many candles are lit at vigils or how many notes are pinned to teddy-bears left on a porch. 

It won’t matter how many hugs and heartfelt gestures are received from politicians with a promise for justice. For the victims, the cowards of the world seem to be winning.

The answers won’t matter, either. 

Long after the forensic reports and press conferences and the benefits held at veterans’ posts to raise money for medical bills, the heartbreak will keep forever. Cowardly acts are usually intended to maim our souls in ways that shrapnel cannot penetrate.   

They’ll be stories of resilience and bravery and moments of good cheer but no one will want to admit that acts of terrorism are beginning to seem routine.  We don’t want to be paralyzed by the lack of control and by our fear so we’ll carry on. Neighbours will go back to work and children will be sent back to school. Many will return to normal but not the families whose lives have been irrevocably damaged.  

This is the second time in my life where I have sat glued in front of a television while holding a telephone in my hand.  The first time, people were calling me to see if my girls and I were safe, now it was my turn to make the calls.

Perseverance

I grew up in Boston and my daughters claim that despite twenty-six years in New York City and my years in Bermuda, I have never really lost my accent.  Now I hope that it never leaves me. If you know Boston, and I mean really know this town, then you will know about Boston humour and perseverance.   Bostonians never give up.  

If death is the way terrorists keep score then one death is a win.  But over and over as I watched the various videos of the bombings I was astounded at the bravery and selfless response of those who ran towards the victims of the bombing. Every second counted and were it not for these brave men and women, the loss of life surely would have been greater.  The cowards who built these crude bombs didn’t anticipate the bravery of good men and women.  Someday, when the victims and their families are ready, I hope that knowing this will bring them solace and peace.  

For now, there is nothing more for us to do but offer our prayers and love.