After hours of coverage and shock and disbelief at the terror of the Boston Marathon, I am having the hardest time with the death of the 8 year-old boy, Martin Richard…
The boy who was a mere specatator. A fan. To cheer on his dad in the race. This is the part where I get a lump in my throat.
“In the seconds before the blast, Martin exchanged a hug with his dad, William, as the father approached the finish line of the 26.2 mile race…”
[***after this post was written, there have been reports that the father, while a runner, was not
actually running the race this year ….but was spectating with his wife and daughter (also injured)]
As a human, I am disgusted by this act of terror.
As a runner, I am horrified by the targeted venue.
But as a running parent, I am angered by the senseless taking of a life. The taking of a supporter, a young child… just there to say, “go dad” and “you’re my hero, daddy.”
If I were to hug my son or daughter at the finish of a race… then cross the finish… only to have my baby taken from me by such a senseless act of horror… I’m not sure how to process this.
Running to goals. Running for sanity. Running for the beauty, the pain, the experience, the feelings of success. The sport which adds so much to our lives…. to have an outcome like this.
I can’t digest it.
I pray for all those impacted by this tragedy. I am thankful for the heroes. And I pray for answers and justice.
…Running… yet another reason to hug my kids and husband a little tighter tonight.