A Tough Day for a Tough Town

Yesterday was like any other Monday morning; got the kids up for school, dropped off Liam, and was ready to bring Owen to school. We stopped a Dunkin Donuts and we sat down at a table so Owen could enjoy his donut, and me, my coffee.

A man behind us heard me talking to Owen and asked, “Where are you from?” Living away from Boston and New England since 1997, I am very used to the question. I know I sound “different” outside of the New England area. Even in New York City, people can pick up on where I am from by my strong accent.

“I am from the Boston area. I grew up about 20 miles north of the city on the New Hampshire/Massachusetts bordah," I said.

“Have you been in New York a long time,” he continued. “Yes, I moved here in 2001 after the 9/11 attacks. I really wanted to be closer to home and to my family,” I said. “But, I left Boston in 1997,” I added. (I lived in various cities before heading to NY.)

“Oh, still got that accent though ey,” he laughed. “I used to travel to Boston a lot. Boston is a great city. I love the people. They are a bit crazy about their sports teams up there though,” he added. (Like NY isn’t! I wanted to reply.)

I proceeded to talk to him for about five minutes or so about what a great day it was going to be in the city; how it was the Boston Marathon, Patriot’s Day, how the Red Sox play at Fenway Park and everyone has the day off from school and work. It is an awesome day to be in Boston.

“Oh," he said. "I will have to make it up there for that one year. Sounds like fun.”

(At the Red Sox game on Patriot's Day in 2006 with my sister Shannon)

We parted ways. I took Owen to school. I thought about all my friends, family and fellow New Englanders enjoying the day. I longed to be there, to see the runners, and to run another marathon with my family at the finish line cheering me on.  (I have run in four marathons, so many races and several triathalons too-- see above picture taken in 2002 in NY!)

I have always been proud of my New England roots. I wear a Boston Red Sox hat to Yankee games (despite Paul’s protests and pleads!). I walk around New York City with my Patriots jersey every October and; I dress my boys in as many Boston sports team logos as my husband can stomach. I am proud of where I am from… accent and all!

(At the Yankee game in the Bronx with Paul -- no fear!)

And, after a two-year injury I had just started running again. So I was doing the happy dance yesterday watching the Boston Marathon. Two of my favorite things… running and Boston, I was psyched. I shut the TV off at 2:48 p.m. to head to Liam’s school to pick him up from his day. We went to go get a bagel. The marathon was on the TV in the bagel place. “Breaking news at the Boston Marathon….” My first thought was it was news surrounding some sort of Rosie Ruiz controversy. (The Cuban American was declared the winner in the female category for the 84th Boston Marathon in 1980, only to have her title stripped after it was discovered that she had not run the entire course.)

But no! The unimaginable. The horror. We asked the bagel place to shut off the TV. School had just gotten out and the shop was filled with elementary school children that are far too innocent to be subjected to the images that had now become our new reality.

I wanted home. My home in NYC where I was safe to cry and to find out what had taken place; My “home” in Boston where so many of my friends and family live.

I couldn’t bring myself to lace up my shoes to run, like I had planned on Monday night. I was up late into the night and early morning watching the news, combing through Facebook. I don’t know what I was looking for. I think I felt that if I kept watching maybe I could get some glimmer of good news. That no one had died. That people just got some cuts and bruises. That the authorities caught the people that did this. But, none of those things happened.

Today, I laced up my sneakers, and went out to tackle four miles on the East River in New York City. I couldn't run long enough, hard enough or strong enough today to take away the numb feeling.  Like so many of you, I still weep (and probably will for quite some time) for so many things.

I weep for the thousands of runners who didn’t cross the finish line and trained through the long, hard, snowy winter; Their moment was stolen. I weep for the victims who were out there at the finish line to support the runners, who at mile 26 need the mental and physical support; Now, they need support more than ever. I weep for little Martin Richard, who will never grow up to run his own marathon with his Dad. I weep for the Richard family and so many other families. I weep for my running community, this marathon and others will never be the same. I weep for my city.

As that man said to me in Dunkin Donuts on Monday morning before the world got a little darker, “You people from New England are a tough group.” Yes, yes we are! Keep the light and love shining through Boston. We are a tough group.

Embracing a Creative Moment

Last month, I had the great pleasure and opportunity to read my book, “Liam’s Window,” to a group of children at the Rhinelander Nursery School in New York City. Three groups of children ages two to four anxiously waited to hear from me and listen to the story I wrote for Liam – my little four year old (at the time) who did not want to go to sleep. It was a wonderful experience for all of us! I felt proud of my work, and appreciated that they were willing to listen to it.

I never wrote the book to make a profit or to drive incremental revenue. I wrote it as a legacy to my little boy and to capture a fleeting moment in his childhood.

I had never intended to write a children’s book; it was never on my bucket list; it was never a goal. But, I have been a writer since an early age and always loved to find stories in the everyday mundane. Sometimes when I go to bed at night or I find quiet times during the day, I write stories, letters, or executive speeches in my brain. I try and replicate it when I wake up the next morning or feel inspired and it never comes out the same.

This was one time, however, I capitalized on that creative moment in time. I put Liam to bed, raced to my computer and captured what he had shared with me in that sweet exchange. If I had not taken that moment to embrace the creative spirit, I don’t know that I ever would have recreated what Liam had shared with me.

It was a lesson to stop,  to listen and to embrace what has filled the space in that moment. You never know what it might inspire you. I have written several other things since that time, embracing the “writing” moments whenever they might come. But, finding and creating the space is always a challenge. In the harried world we live in, I would love to know how others find the time to embrace their creative spirits.