I am writing this with almost no information.
It is just after 4pm on Marathon Monday, and there have been explosions reported at the finish line of the Boston Marathon. Two people are confirmed dead and at least 23 are injured. No one has said for sure if it was a pair of bombs or something else. The prevailing opinion appears to be that it was an act of terrorism, but that is based on circumstantial evidence. The marathon has been cancelled, and the thousands of runners who did not finish before the explosions went off have been diverted and kept away from the Copley area.
I am feeling right now a way that I have only felt twice before in my life. The first was in August of 1999. I was 15 years old and my mother woke me up very urgently to tell me, without preamble, that my father had died. The shock immediately gave way to grief. After I got dressed, I went downstairs to the kitchen, where I cried with my mother and brother for a good long time. My boyfriend at the time, who was an unequivocal doof and an emo hipster (before we knew what those were), rode his bike all the way to my house to bring me a potted plant. It was a sweet gesture.
The only other time I had felt like this was on a day that I assume you could have guessed. The second week of school of my senior year in high school, four planes were involved in a terrorist attack in New York, Washington DC, and Pennsylvania. I have written about this before, so I will not belabor the point. I had almost no info about what had happened all day (my school's administration made the extremely distasteful call to block students from any news sources so that we could have a distraction-free school day....yeah, right). When I got home, I got all of the information and images and expert testimonies all hit me at once. I was completely stunned, I had no idea how to react. I barely remember that evening. I know I cried pretty much the whole time. I remember practically screaming into the phone to my boyfriend, something about what it must have been like for all the people in the buildings who saw the planes coming or who were in floors above where the planes struck. I bought a newspaper the next morning on the way to school because I knew it was important.
Both of those times, I felt this sense of uselessness that was infuriating. I'm not an EMT, I'm not an expert on terrorism or international relations, and in the case of my father's death, I was 15 so it's not like I was making arrangements or taking care of the practical shit that has to be dealt with. There was literally nothing I could do. I can't even donate blood because the size needle they use causes my veins to spasm and clamp shut like a kinked hose.
So here I am, home alone and watching live coverage of the bombing of the Boston Marathon, feeling this again. I live less than three miles from the finish line, but my proximity does nothing but make it scarier for me. My work is right in the heart of Kenmore Square, less than a mile from where the bombs went off. If I went down there right now to help, what would happen? I would be pushed back, told to go home, and for good reason. There's nothing I could do. But at home, where I should be, I'm just sitting here watching news coverage. I'm hungry, actually really hungry, but I'm too sick to my stomach to eat. The dogs need to be fed and walked, but I'm torn between welcoming the distraction and fearing being away from the TV for more than a moment. I don't know why it would matter that I would find out a piece of news a few minutes later than live, but for some reason, it matters to me.
Suddenly, and once again, all the bullshit of my day-to-day life seems meaningless. Today is not the day I had a nice 6-mile run on the Esplanade. It's not the day that I had my first professional driving lesson. It's not the first weekday of my school vacation. That's all voided. Today is the day that someone blew up the finish line at the Boston Marathon. That is what today will be from now on. The immediate stuff gets lost in the tragedy. What's for dinner? I don't know, someone blew up Copley. Want to watch a movie tonight? No, I can't, there was a bomb at Marathon Sports. Did you do laundry? No, they're saying the incident at the JFK Library might be related. I have no idea what to do with myself. There is nothing to do.
It's now 5:30 and more information has been released, yet it feels as though I still know nothing. I'm glad my dogs like to cuddle.
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2 comments:
Amber - as someone who lived in lower Manhattan in 2001, I actually know a lot of what you say you're feeling. I remember walking to Times Square from 10th street to get a newspaper, because the city was shut down and we all felt that it was important. I remember watching people walk up from the Financial District covered in dust. I remember a week of watching so much CNN that my head hurt constantly. And then I left, I went to Ithaca and spent a weekend sleeping and walking outside and just trying to find my balance again.
That has actually given me a real dislike for tv news in disasters, the looping pictures of falling buildings gave me sleepless nights for months.
You can donate blood, maybe not today, or if you can't, you can help others get there. But other than that, when you lack a focal response point (an injured person, a job in response) there isn't much. But give yourself permission to turn off the tv, to play with the dogs, to eat, because it will leave you better able to help if/when an opportunity does arise.
I dunno, I'm just typing. Do what you want, and make Dan give you a hug.
-- Nancy F.
I completely agree with Nancy. I don't have TV in my apartment (just internet access), so I turned off WBUR, walked away from the computer, did some dishes, sat on my porch and watched the sun start to go down. If you do that, even for a few minutes, it really helps.
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