After Boston: Raw Emotions In Wake Of Bombings

I am a veteran Boston Marathon watcher. After a dozen trips up to the marathon from my home in Rhode Island, I am – with my faithful Boston Marathon comrade-in-arms, Kate Gallogly – a pro. We know where to go, where to park, what to bring. 

We go because in 1999 my brother Bill, who lives in my native California, qualified to run Boston, and family on the East Coast rallied to support him. Looking back, that first year was crazy complicated. We brought all sorts of food for a post-marathon party at Bill's room at the Park Plaza, but we decided to park in Braintree and take the T. Nice idea, but not with all that stuff!

We managed to drop off things at the hotel, take another train to Wellesley to see Bill, travel back to Boston for the finish, and celebrate with Bill and some California friends before heading back on the T to our car in Braintree and the drive home. It was a very long day.

But for someone who lives far from most family, it was sweet indeed to be able to mark this moment with my brother. 

For the next several years, Bill ran Boston and we were there. In 2004, a highly unlikely meeting brought Bill face to face with a woman he'd met at a marathon in California. They struck up a conversation that 16 months later led to marriage. 

That woman, Jenny, my sister-in-law, was again running the Boston on Monday.

And so it was that Kate Gallogly, my son James and I were in Wellesley once more, to say hi to Jenny, and to try to see any of the 10 East Greenwich runners I'd learned were participating.

Like clockwork, we drove to Wellesley, parking near the public works department behind the fire station. We stationed ourselves on the Route 9 overpass and had about 12 minutes of waiting before Jenny appeared, smiling (as always!). She stopped to greet each of us. We snapped some photos and then Jenny was on her way. 

We stayed longer than usual, and saw both Julie Oh and one other EG runner we didn't know but who read our "Go East Greenwich Runners" sign. Then we got some lunch and were driving home when we learned of the bombings. 

A sick feeling. I called Jenny – she had her cell phone with her – but it went to voicemail. I called my brother in California, who had only just learned of the explosions. He told me he'd talked to Jenny maybe 20 minutes earlier and she'd finished 30 minutes ago and told him she was on her way to the massage area. 

So she was still downtown. 

Suddenly it was obvious we needed to turn around. What if .. what if ...?

I heard from Jenny at 3:47 p.m. She was OK. She was back at the hostel in Chinatown where she was staying. She was OK. 

Hearing that, we turned around again and headed for Rhode Island, for home, our hearts glad but so heavy.