“When I despair, I remember that all through history the
way of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants and murderers,
and for a time, they can seem invincible, but in the end, they always fall.
Think of it--always.”
It has been a
heartbreakingly sad week in the world.
At the Boston Marathon, two home-made bombs went off, seriously injuring
almost two hundred people and killing an 8 year old little boy, a 29 year old
young woman and a 23 year old international student from China- who recently
had praised the virtues of American life as blueberry waffles, Godiva dark
chocolate, and ice cream on her
Chinese equivalent to Twitter.
Ironically, Martin, the 8 year old, had just gotten some ice cream with
his family before he went back to cheer on the runners.
It was Monday, April 15th,
2013. I had just come down from my
office and my mother was sitting in the kitchen watching television in the same
spot she was in when the devastating news about the Newtown, Connecticut
massacre came on. She turned
around and looked at me, shaking her head in disbelief. The rest of the day we just continued
to watch the news reports, the scenes repeating over and over again- runners
reaching the finish line as two white and fiery blasts filled the air, knocking
some to the ground as others turned in confusion- an instant of bliss and
triumph becoming an instant of terror and dread.
The week became harder to bear as
we came to know the victims and their families, as we learned how poor Martin’s
younger sister lost her leg and his mother suffered a serious brain
injury. We watched another tearful
mother, through heart-wrenching sobs describe how wonderful her daughter
was. And then heard of a father
who had to travel from China to bring back his daughter’s body, a daughter he
had been so proud of for earning a degree abroad.
As the news events unfolded we
witnessed families reuniting, succumbing to tears of relief and we learned of
the heroes who displayed the goodness of the human spirit, while the media
monopolized our now more cautious lives, displaying FBI photographs of the two
men suspected of committing this horrific act. We spent most of Friday night in front of that same TV in
the kitchen as we and millions of others watched a house on Franklin Street in a
Boston suburb where bombing suspect #2 hid inside a boat kept in the backyard
until we got word that the suspect was apprehended. Suspect #1, the older brother, had been killed earlier
after he fatally shot a young police officer and seriously wounded
another. Suspect #1 was younger
than 30, suspect #2 was younger than 20; yet they managed to destroy so many
lives and cause the whole country to go on high alert, something,
unfortunately, we’ve become all too used to since 9/11.
Some wonder what the world is
coming to- that it’s getting crazier and crazier. I consider that and possibly because I’m currently reading a
novel about the Holocaust and recently finished one about the Masada, I say, no, the world is the same- unfortunately,
there have always been those who do evil, who have hurt innocent people just to
serve their own irrational purposes.
I even mention this when I work with a group of HS History teachers
on Thursday and they all agree with me; after all, they are the experts on
History.
Meanwhile the media, which has
become a ubiquitous force in our lives continued to say, until the perpetrators
were exposed, “We don’t know who is behind
this or WHY they have done it”––as if there could really be an
explanation to the WHY other than they had the power and ability to hurt people
and chose to use it. In the middle
of all this, a photo emerged of a sweet, smiling Martin Richard, the 8-year old
victim, holding a poster he had created with the simple, yet profound
statement, “No More hurting people. Peace”, illustrated with two hearts and a
peace sign. At my first glance at
this iconic picture, I began to sob.
Amidst all this sorrow, I try to
find the strength to smile, reminding myself that the promise of spring is here
along with the pink and white blossoming trees and emerging daffodils. This is the season of hope, when the
dormant seeds begin to germinate- when life begins- certainly not when it ends
and so tragically, especially for four people who had their whole lives before
them.
I think of the mothers of the
victims- the 29-year old girl, Krystle Campbell’s mother standing on her porch,
her chest heaving with sobs barely able to express her heartbreak in a single
breath. It reminds me of my
Grandma Fanny when her youngest son, my Uncle Fintz, passed away. I was only ten but I remember that same
vision of her chest looking like it might break in two from her weeping. And even though she knew he was going
to die from an insidious brain tumor, knowing still did not prepare her for it.
It was a pain more horrible than I had ever seen. My uncle is gone almost 47 years now…but he still lives
on. I see him in his wife who
loves him just as much as ever, in his three children, his five grandchildren
and four great grandchildren. And
his memory continues to brighten my mother’s eyes whenever she speaks of him.
I know that all those who have
perished in this senseless tragedy will continue to live on in some way for the
people who lost them. Martin’s
iconic photo should serve as a reminder to us all; it should grace every public
place there is- every airport terminal, every train station and every sporting
event. In the meantime to honor
his message and promote the goodness that I know still exists in this world; I
decided to make sure I do good things this week. An opportunity came when I was on the 1 train going to my
NYC office on Friday and I had just managed to grab the last empty seat. Then I noticed a pregnant woman to the
left of me. I caught her attention
and said, “Here, take my seat.” At
first, she said no, because there were people standing in the way. But I persisted. I stood up and the person next to me on
the seat slid over so the pregnant woman could sit. She thanked me and I said, “No problem, I have a pregnant
daughter and I would want someone to do that for her.” We began to talk. Coincidently, her due date was exactly
the same as Lindsay’s– June 8th. We chatted
until she got off the train, and then wished each other good luck.
Good luck- I wish I could package
it and keep it in my pocket. I
wish I could cover my children with it to shield them and protect them always. Even better, I wish I could use its
force to turn any weapon or bomb into fairy dust before it hurts or destroys
any other innocent being, leaving its perpetrator powerless instead of taking
another victim.
I look at my daughter’s growing
pregnant belly and think how wonderful it is that my granddaughter is encased
in there before she enters this sometimes unpredictable, frightening
world. But them I’m overwhelmed
by the miracle of what she is- a symbol that love always conquers all.
“If ever
there is tomorrow when we're not together... there is something you must always
remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter
than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we're apart... I'll
always be with you.”
THoughtful observations by a feeling soul....
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