This happens in places I've never been, or in places I've only been to once or twice as a tourist.
I'm still struggling to fully accept what happened at today's Boston Marathon. I want it to be a movie script, waiting for Ben Affleck or Mark Wahlberg to come around the corner.
I've walked those very feet of sidewalk, driven that street, where others were attacked and killed today.
Boston is college, a first apartment, first job, first serious boyfriend... and second - all happened in that beloved city of mine. I met my husband there, our first date beginning when we met under the clock at Filene's at Downtown Crossing. I know its nooks and crannies and bars and streets and stores and restaurants and subway and roads (and yes, I can drive them... and even find onstreet parking!). I have friends and classmates who live and work there. I have family who live and work there. I have stood in those very spots and cheered on friends and strangers as they ran the race of their lives.
I cannot comprehend what kind of sick, selfish, arrogant, twisted mind would find any reason, any justification in their own dark world that purposefully doing this to others would be okay, would earn them adulation, or that their God would find favorable.
And now the stories have started that will make my tears flow.
Of one of the victims being only 8 years old, his mother and sister injured as well.
Of the first responders and others running towards the blast to help.
Of former Patriot Joe Andruzzi, whose three brothers were first responders at 9/11, being at the finish line and carrying an injured woman from the scene.
Of the people along the route offering stranded runners clothes and bananas and water and places to stay the night.
Of the friends and classmates of the Oldest who were at the finish line just before the blast who escaped injury but saw horrible, horrible things today that no one, let alone a child, should see.
Boston, you're my second home. And tonight my heart is breaking for you.