The details and reality of Monday’s bombing at the Boston Marathon finish line continue to settle into my consciousness, and I find myself still processing the shock.
Typically, one becomes somewhat desensitized to reports of civilian-targeted explosions in regions marked by conflict—the Middle East, Africa, and similar areas of unrest.
But today, I struggle to comprehend how such an event could unfold here, in my own neighborhood.
These are streets my family traverses every day.
The Marathon is a race I have run and completed while my family cheered as I crossed the finish line.
We shop regularly in the Boylston Street stores that sustained damage from the blast.
The fact that tragedy could strike in my own community makes it all the more disturbing.
What makes it particularly surreal is that my 10-year-old son was standing at the corner of Newbury and Fairfield Streets, heading toward Boylston Street, when the second explosion occurred. As he told me last night, “I felt the ground shake, saw the smoke and a horde of people running towards me” He then gave me a tight hug.
Our family was fortunate—no injuries among us.
Many others from our community who participated in or watched the race may have escaped physical harm but could carry emotional scars.
Yet there are innocent victims who have lost their lives or suffered permanent injuries, and no words can adequately convey our sorrow for them.
As a society, we trust that those responsible will be identified and held accountable.
As members of the human race, we can only hope this never occurs again.
The harsh truth, however, is that the world has grown accustomed to such violence, and until Monday, I had not.
(Stephen Quigley lives with his family in the Back Bay section of Boston.)