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Wednesday, April 17, 2013


I avoid writing posts about current events. I don't like to do it because everyone else is already talking about it. I have to turn off the news because I get overwhelmed by everything reported.

I prefer to find a short article that summarizes the events rather than watching hours of news coverage that replays a short clip over and over. I only want to read it once, and I usually don't go back for updates. My coworkers discuss the news enough that I really haven't had a need to watch or read it for three years.

I guess what I'm getting at, is that Boston is different.

Whether it be that I'm a new mother and I'm extremely sensitive, or that we know someone who was there and I heard the worry in Josh's voice when he asked me to call to check on them, I'm not sure. But for me, this was hard.

On September 11, 2001, I was 15 years old. It sounds like an age where something as tragic as 9/11 would be understood, but to be honest, it wasn't. I didn't know what was going on, I wasn't clear on what had happened, and I didn't comprehend the big picture. I knew lots of people died, but all that occurred to me was that they died. Not that their families lost them. Not that thousands of families would never be the same. Not that I should be grateful for the ability to live and breathe.

Boston is no September 11. But for me, Boston is different.

I had just sat down to feed Isaiah when the alert came through on my phone that there were two explosions, and my heart sank. I got goosebumps and without even knowing any more detail than I just gave, I began to cry. Without knowing what happened, I knew it was bad. I knew with all of the people in attendance, someone wasn't going home to their family.

This is the part I didn't get when I was 15. Those people won't be home. And those who have lost limbs can, but may never run again.

Knowing that families have been torn apart, and lives have been forever changed, makes my heart break.

I went on a long walk with Isaiah this morning. I feel like I'm a fairly grateful and positive person (besides by sarcasm, but I'm still sincere), but I found myself, for the first time, thanking the Lord for my legs and feet. For the ability to walk with my son, and if I ever choose to, run.

When something tragic happens like this, I often take a leave of absence from the internet and social media. I stop posting, not because it isn't important, but because my issues, and all of my thoughts I put on Twitter are not important. When something like this happens, I realize how selfish my thoughts are. I realize that I need to be more present in my life and in my relationship with God.

Events like this don't make me realize how much I love my son, this makes me realize how much I have to lose. I have an incredibly blessed life, and the fact that I'm a mom now changes everything.

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