I inadvertently took a break from blogging last week. I had my posts planned and even though we were down in Philadelphia getting Kevin settled into his new job and getting to know the city, I was planning on writing from the road. But then with everything happening in Boston and it being our last week together as a family for awhile, I just felt like I needed to step away. And be quiet. There’s a reason why we observe moments of silence during unsettling times.
After Hurricane Katrina, I put myself in a media blackout surrounding tragic events. I was eight months pregnant when that horrible storm wiped out much of New Orleans. I sat on the couch for a week obsessed with the news coverage, crying and yelling at the TV, “Why isn’t anyone helping these people?” Kevin would leave for work and I would be watching, and he would come home and I would still be engulfed in every scrap of news coming out of New Orleans. I could not turn away. Hormones probably played a role. But even though Katrina wasn’t a manmade event, our failure as a society to take care of our own really wrecked me. I was so emotionally shaken by what I saw that I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t do that anymore. That I wouldn’t be a part of the media cycle, that I wouldn’t expose myself to that kind of tragedy, that I would grieve and process in my own quiet way. I don’t know if that’s the right or wrong way to handle it, but that is what I had chosen. And until last week, I kept that promise, consciously shielding myself from the television and media coverage of the worst of humanity. Because knowing every last detail, didn’t (and still doesn’t) make me feel any better.
I’ve lived in Massachusetts for half of my life. To live here, is to understand the sacredness of the Boston Marathon and Patriot’s Day. There isn’t anyone in this state that doesn’t know someone involved in this event. So when those bombs went off last Monday, I lost all resolve to hold myself apart. I went down the rabbit hole in the worst way. This time I had my iPhone to ensure I was connected to every news outlet for every waking minute. To make a long story short, by the time it was over, I was following the guys on Twitter that listen to the police scanners and are about 20 minutes ahead of the news. I was obsessed. With every tweet, the noise was getting louder and louder.
But my obsession hadn’t been about justice. I don’t think I’m alone in just wanting to understand why. Why would someone do something so horrible? And when that man, well let’s say boy because 19 is really still a boy, was trapped in that boat and being hunted I felt so sad for him. The same sort of sadness that I felt standing over my own children watching them sleep with their lanky legs twisted in their covers and thinking of the eight year old boy Martin who was killed in the attacks. The same sort of sadness I feel when I think about the areas of the world where people live in a state of terror every day. I realize that this probably isn’t popular opinion and maybe only a mother can have compassion for a terrorist at such a moment. But when I think of how alone and scared Dzhokhar must have been, I do have compassion for him. Even to write his name, reminds me that he is a person too. I can not wish evil on him. I choose not wish evil on anyone. I did not think that it was the right time to take to the street and celebrate. It was time to be quiet.
Yes, I think he should be held accountable. Yes, I think what he did was unspeakable. People are dead, and for what purpose? But when I was yelling at the tv, “They better find him alive!” it wasn’t so that we can kill him later after he’s been proven guilty or to get some sort of vengeance, it was because I want an explanation. Something that will add context to such a senseless act of violence. To know that there is a reason, and that it wasn’t just a random act of hatred. To know that evil is premeditated and has some sort of order to it – that we can control it.
I don’t know why I texted “stay safe” to my closest friends and family on lock down in the Boston area as if they had a choice in the matter. And that’s the disheartening part. No matter how diligent our government is or tries to be, we are all still victims, even if indirectly, of evil acts. That manhunt was about stopping a terrorist, but it was also about regaining a sense of control in an out of control situation. It brings a temporary relief, but is it a long term solution? I don’t know how to eradicate evil in this world or if it’s even possible. I would be happy with a simple reduction. But my gut is telling me that there’s a glimmer of an answer in our innate ability to feel compassion for others in even the ugliest of situations. I’ve turned the news feeds off again. I’m being quiet. And grateful. I’m trying to focus on the only thing I can control which is how I choose to be in this world.
My heart goes out to the victims of this senseless violence and to their families, to the law enforcement who so bravely protect us, to every runner, the helpers running toward the explosions and to every resident of the city and state that I have been so proud to call home. And yes, to Dzhokhar.
You aren’t alone here, Kaly, whether the position is unpopular or not. I definitly had all of those thoughts mentioned above as I saw things unfold, and I’m willing to bet that lots of people did, even if they don’t bring it up. There’s nothing wrong with having a compassionate heart and the ability to put yourself in someone else’s shoes, even if you are angry, scared, and bewildered by that person’s choices and the results they bring. Ironically, it may be this very quality that Dzokhar was lacking when he did what he did – but that doesn’t mean the rest of us should be lacking. Of course, I was also glad and relieved that he was found and hope for answers just like everyone else, but this is indeed sad from all perspectives, including his.