I didn’t want to write something last week on the first anniversary of the Boston Marathon bombings.
I didn’t want to, but I felt like I should.
Because it’s my city – I could live in Washington for the rest of my life, and Boston will always be my city — and those are my people, my friends, my family. How could I keep silent during such a difficult anniversary? Was I less of a Bostonian, less of a caring person, if I didn’t say something?
I thought that, and then I read some of the articles, and I watched some of the TV spots about the anniversary.
And then I had to stop reading, and I had to stop watching, and I put the figuring out of what to write on hold.
Because I justcouldn’t. Because it was too much. Because I still start to cry…
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