Every morning when I wake up, the very first thing I do is grab my phone to google the latest updates on the Tsarnaev trial. I cannot get enough info on the case of the man who tried to kill me. If I didn’t have a job, I would be at that courthouse every day trying to be one of those pedestrians that they let in to watch.
It has taken almost two whole years for this trial to begin. I need its closure. Crossing the finish line in 2014 brought me closure, but the verdict in the Tsarnaev case will bring me a different kind of peace.
I have read that Tsarvaev will not meet the eyes of any of his victims, nor will he even spare them (save one) a glance. If I had it my way, I would make him look at every single individual he has hurt until he cracks with the pain of what he has done. I would literally hold his eyelids open and make him stare. This is a man without a soul and instead has a heart full of hate. I want him to feel the ongoing agony he has put his victims through. “An eye for an eye” also sounds great…but I would rather hear that he has been given the death penalty.
Reading the stories of the victims is painful. Its a constant walk down memory lane towards the images I try not to think of and a day that has caused so much pain in the lives of my friends, family, and in my own heart. Painful though it may be, I feel like I need to read/hear each account from each victim. I want to give each and every one of them a hug. Cry with them. Every single story is relatable, have you noticed that? There is Jeff Bauman, who came to the finish line to see his girlfriend cross. There’s the Richard family– Just the normal everyday family who wanted to go to an extremely popular sporting event (Marathon Monday ranks 2nd in coverage. The number one spot goes to the Superbowl of course.) To me, the fact that all of their stories are relatable is the scariest part. These are the stories of my friends and my husband-just a fun day in the city celebrating their friend and watching a marathon. Dzhokhar Tsarnaev wanted to hurt the everyday people of the world.
Even though I have no physical scars, and I didn’t lose a limb, I have scars in my heart that will always be there. These kind of scars are ones that will never fade and even with the passing of time, the marks have not fully healed. I carry a scar for my husband who kept our entire group together. This is a man who does not like crowds as it is, and only went to the finish line to watch his new wife finish her marathon. My anxiety ridden husband suffered enough that day, never mind throwing bombs on top of it all. He was militant in keeping our group together, all holding hands, until they found me. I carry a scar for the carnage my friends and family saw: limbs, blood, and the screaming…So much screaming. The “wrong place at the wrong time” phrase was created for 4/15/13. I carry a scar for the fact that anyone was even there to see me run in the first place.
I have a scar for Marathon Monday. My favorite day of the year–> more than my birthday–Marathon Monday is MY day. MINE. I know I am BostonStrong because I rallied, and I returned to Hopkinton last year to run those legendary 26.2 miles. The day originally symbolized my love of running for Children’s, meeting up with my “people” after, and celebrating this huge accomplishment. Now, even though it is still all those things-the memory of what happened will always be in the forefront of my mind. I will always be nervous. I will never forget. It has changed me. It changed my city. It changed “my people.”
But through tragedy, triumph always shine through eventually. Boston rallied, stronger than EVER, around its people. We displayed a courage so powerful it takes my breath away just thinking about it. We shut down a city to catch the bombers.
A WHOLE CITY.
ONE OF THE BIGGEST AND MOST POWERFUL CITIES.
I have faith that Boston will triumph again and make the best decision in the outcome of this trial.
BostonStrong now…Boston strong ALWAYS.