I lived in Boston for many many years and my heart is breaking tonight for the city that I love.
I had considered going in this weekend, but went on a road trip west, since I’m going in next weekend. I arrived home in the late afternoon and flipped on the television to the same horror that everyone else had been watching for hours. A great day of celebration gone so very wrong.
Last year I took some lovely pictures right in the area where tragedy happened.
Some of my friends have been complaining about the coverage of Boston. Evidently the media should not be covering Boston because similar things happen in Bagdad and Syria.
While I agree that there needs to be more and better coverage of tragedy around the world, the reality is that I’m always going to have a stronger emotional response to seeing a bomb in such a familiar place. I’m always going to worry a little more when I’m waiting to hear if friends are okay.
It’s not that I feel Syrian lives are worth less than Bostonian lives. It’s that I feel a closer connection to this tragedy. And I’m shocked to see this happen in a place where it’s so unexpected.
Domestic terror (which is what they assume this is) feels like such a betrayal. Terrorism is meant to scare and disrupt. Normal is gone and something new has arrived.