Horror hits close to home: Witnessing the Boston Marathon bombing
This article originally ran in the Beverly Citizen, a newspaper of GateHouse Media New England, and online at wickedlocal.com/beverly, where I work as the editor of the publication. See the original story here:
Beverly Citizen editor Natalie Miller was in Boston as one of thousands of Marathon spectators on Monday. The explosions happened only moments after she walked away from the finish line. Here is her account of what happened:
A joyous day for the city of Boston and runners worldwide turned tragic Monday afternoon when two explosions erupted at the finish line of the Boston Marathon. It’s been hours since those terrifying moments that left three dead, more than 100 injured and thousands in fear and rage, yet the sudden, deafening booms and subsequent panicked chaos still echo through my mind.
Like many of my Bostonian neighbors, I awoke Monday morning excited for a day off from work and eager to soak up the sun and cheer on the runners of the 117th Boston Marathon. Armed with sandwiches, iced Americanos and a few good friends, I made my way on foot from Inman Square in Cambridge over the Mass Ave. Bridge into Boston. It was a beautiful spring day, and as we made our way through the crowds of people and the race route came into view, it felt like every Patriots Day should feel in Boston.
Thousands of people from all over the world were running the 26.2-mile route to Copley Plaza for personal achievement and to raise funds and awareness for many important causes from cancer to homelessness, and thousands more flocked to the streets and sidewalks in cheers, encouragement and celebration.
My friends and I made our way toward Boylston Street to support and applaud the runners as they took their last few strides to the finish line. The crowded streets were full of children, families, pets, college students and many others, all with smiling faces and encouraging words for the participants. We watched countless runners reach their goal — their sense of relief and triumph seemed to overshadow their fatigue. Many pumped their fists and waved to the crowd; others tried to slow their breath and find a place to rest. But they made it. After months of training and sacrifice, they had reached the finish. It was truly inspirational to witness.
In that blissful moment I was completely unaware of the imminent danger and unprepared for what was to come — that in just five minutes my feelings of joy and contentment would be replaced with fear and confusion.
At about 2:45, my friends and I decided it was time for some food and drinks; we began to walk away from our spot at the finish line toward Dartmouth Street. Minutes later, as we reached the corner of Dartmouth and Boylston, a loud blast just a block away caused me to jump right out of my skin.
With a feeling of embarrassment at being startled by what was surely something insignificant — a celebratory cannon, perhaps? — I turned around to see what had happened, and at that moment another loud explosion erupted, filling the street with smoke and fire. I instantly knew something was seriously wrong.
The once-jovial crowd turned into panicked chaos as people began to run. Slightly dumbfounded and certainly frightened, yet determined to find out what was going on, I began to instinctively move toward the commotion. People around me were shouting, crying, holding their loved ones and trying to flea the area.
Suddenly my friend dragged me in the opposite direction of the explosions. I could see the concern and resolve on his face. It wasn’t time to try to comprehend what was happening. It was time to move, to get away from the explosions, whatever they were, before there were more.
I quickly joined the masses as we made our way down Dartmouth Street to Comm. Ave. toward the bridge into Cambridge. Along the way we heard the sirens as emergency and public safety personnel made their way to the scene, and a few people stopped to ask us what had happened. “There was some kind of explosion at the finish line,” is all we could say.
Once safely over the bridge, I checked my Twitter account, desperate to find out what had happened. But I already knew. I was just praying the casualties and injuries were minimal and that there would be no more explosions.
Though cell phone service was down, during the last shaky steps back to Inman Square I was able to text my loved ones that I was safe and check the well being of friends I knew were running. It was almost 4 p.m. when I sat down on the couch where I had started my day, the feelings of joy and anticipation I once had at the enjoyable time ahead now long forgotten.
I pulled up my computer to jot a few thoughts down, my hands shaking at the keyboard, as my friends gathered around the television. Like so many others around the state and the world wondering how this could happen again and what would unfold in the next 24 hours, we settled in for the long night of news coverage.
As I sat there, afternoon becoming night and growing light again at the break of dawn, my thoughts were with the victims, their families and the emergency personnel who ran toward the uncertainty while others ran from it.
The hours slipped by and my emotions of fear, anger and disbelief began to grow. We learned that an 8-year-old was among the dead; that some lost limbs and most of the wounded were hit with shrapnel; that the bombs were not meant to kill but to maim.
The thought is sickening, as was my resolve that this is the world we live in. A world of hate. Where you have to be constantly worried, looking over your shoulder, suspicious of your neighbor and in fear of strangers.
Yet, among these thoughts emerged feelings of pride and strength. Seeing the scene of Monday’s horrific events firsthand and the footage of the aftermath, I can say with conviction that we also live in a world of heroes. Where the good not only come together in support and comfort in times of crisis but will ultimately prevail.
My Boston blood runs ever thicker today. This is not a time for giving up or giving in. We will rise from the smoke a stronger more unified community. And we are not alone. Ninety-six countries were represented at Monday’s marathon. This was an assault on us all.
Now is the time to set our differences aside, to embrace our loved ones and our neighbors. To fight for a world without hate.
The memory of this senseless attack and how close my friends and I came to being among the victims will not soon be forgotten. Nor will the heroics displayed by Boston’s finest. Although I still feel under a spell of shock and heartache even now, I am comforted in knowing we are all in this together. That the weight of this tragedy is not only felt by the victims, their families and those of us who bore witness, but that communities across the state, the country and the world are feeling what we are feeling. We are all mourning and recovering together, and while there are still many unanswered questions and uncertainties to overcome, we will in time emerge from this together.