Watching Tragedy From Behind a Screen

I cried for the first time since I can remember.

 I have heard stories of irreplaceable loss, been on the scene of terrible accidents and followed updates for terrible tragedies. Yet the news of Monday’s bombing during the Boston Marathon hit me the hardest I’ve ever been hit.

People I loved were down there, and I had no idea if they were okay.

This is a feeling I have never had before. Tragedy was always safely tucked behind a screen, and could be turned off at any time. The fear I felt couldn’t be turned off and had no mute button to shut it out.

I was lucky. I got to watch it all through my laptop.

There I sat helpless as images of the seriously injured reluctantly surfaced alongside video of chaos and screaming. Stuck waiting as I wondered if two of my loved ones had decided to go through with their plans to visit the finish line that day. Eyes glued to a screen that wouldn’t give me the answers I needed.

I called. Thankfully one of them answered.

They had no idea, no clue of the horror that had unfolded just blocks away. Again I had to wait as they desperately tried to get out of Boston. No idea if more explosions were on their way to take the things I love away.

That is my story. It doesn’t even come close to the ones unwittingly forced upon so many others.

One runner told me how he knew his son was at the finish line when the bombs went off. Another who was supposed to be crossing the finish line with his team as explosions made their way into the haunted memories of victims and onlookers. A first-time runner shared how he came across a teenager covered in blood as he raced to find his family.

And those are just the ones I talked to. There are hundreds more stories of horror, loss, bravery and every other human element that comes out of a tragedy like this:

• Men and women running towards the site of an explosion.
• Body parts taken far from where they belong
• Citizens opening up their homes, and hearts, for others
• Tears for a loved one taken without reason.

A story is more than just words typed onto a page. Every lines is a representation of something real, and sometimes that reality is horrible. These fingers have typed line upon line of such stories, but it wasn’t until the story included people in my neighborhood that they had to stop. Not until it included people I loved that they had trouble typing again.

It has been so long since I have seen tears. There are many reasons to cry, but this shouldn’t have to be one of them for me, or anybody else. We expect the world to play fair if we just carry on and follow the rules. It won’t.

As crazy as the media can get when it covers tragedies, at least there are plenty of people telling stories of humanity and hope. It is a reminder of the infallible humanity that stands in the face of unspeakable inhumanity. An exact opposite to something that shouldn’t exist, but it does.

Somebody out there wanted to take that strength away from us in Boston. That person wanted us to feel pain, take what we love and shed tears for the loss. The bombs went off and that is just what happened.

But pain can eventually be overcome, and tears soon dry.