On the morning of Marathon Monday I woke up early, skipped the revelry and took the 57 bus to Watertown.
The Lowell Sun assigned me a story looking at the “mood” of the small city about a year after the Tsarnaev brothers led police officers on a manhunt and shootout through its narrow streets. The brothers had allegedly set off two bombs near the Marathon finish line a few days prior that killed three and wounded some 260 others.
This terrible incident brought Boston, the city I have called home for four years, together to mourn, to heal and to stay strong. But at the time I was 3,269 miles away in London watching it unfold on BBC, powerless and unable to grieve with my friends back home.
The following story was my way of finally healing. It was a way to talk with the people who were directly affected in the aftermath of the bombings. They have learned to move on and I have too.
After writing this story I headed with friends to the Marathon finish line to cheer on the charity runners that start filing through in the late afternoon. These are the people who have no chance of winning, but still decided to push their bodies to the limit to raise money for others. We should all hope to emulate them someday.