Boston bombings stir feelings of anger


I'm angry in a swing-at-the-stars kind of way. Like you, the Boston tragedy hit me like a sucker punch delivered by a nameless, shadowy figure — smoke that evaporates once the shades are opened to the light of day.

I'm sickened by the carnage, saddened by the cruelty, and baffled by the depths of human depravity we witnessed Monday. What possesses someone to fill a pressure cooker with nails and ball bearings, wire it with explosives, and detonate it in a crowd of innocents? What point could that possibly achieve?

The images are seared into our brains — the bloody sidewalks, gaping wounds, and expressions rife with fear, shock and pain. How could humanity produce such atrocities?

I've heard speculation about the "why" of it all. To be honest, I don't care. There isn't a reason compelling enough to justify such behavior. There isn't anything we as a society have done to deserve it, either. Evil is alive and well. That's why.

What I do care about are the families and friends of 8-year old Martin Richard, 29-year old Krystle Campbell, and the Boston University graduate student who (at the time of this writing) we know were among those murdered just for being part of what should have been a joyous day.

I care about those who woke in hospitals to discover they were horribly injured.

I care about surgeons and caregivers, therapists, counselors and clergy working tirelessly to stitch bodies, minds and spirits together after they'd been ripped to shreds.

I care about witnesses and first responders who rose above the horror to act admirably just the same.

I care about the runners who came to compete in a race many had labored doggedly to qualify for, only to have their dreams stained by unimaginable violence. They will never be able to brag to their friends, "Yep, I ran (insert finish time here) during the 2013 Boston Marathon." Race discussion will forever include the question, "Where were you when the bombs went off?"
Sure, there are things more important than race times. But let's remember the day dawned as a celebration of runners' spirit, hard work and endurance.

April 15, 2013, will be forever stamped on our lifelines, with events so significant we'll remember exactly where we were when the news broke.

So forgive me if I don't give a rip about the "why" that caused someone to tear giant holes in the hearts of many. I don't care about the name, nationality, religion, politics, psyche, family background, or shoe size of anyone responsible, either. All I want to know is how they were hunted down, tossed in a tiny prison cell and left to rot — and ponder — what they have done to us all.

As I read and hear stories about the Boston tragedy, a common theme keeps cropping up. Amidst the chaos of a world gone mad, legions of people ran into the unknown to aid their fellow man. They had no idea if another bomb would end their lives, but they went anyway. That is the epitome of heroism — that inner strength that overcomes fear to do something bigger than you ever thought possible. Heroes always run toward something. Cowards run away. And I truly believe that heroes will overpower cowards, anytime and anywhere.

So hug your family and friends until their eyeballs bulge, for we never know what the next moment may bring. And pray like your life depends on it. Cling to faith like a drowning man to a raft, for it is what will pull us through any trial we encounter.

My heart goes out to everyone affected by the terrorist(s) in Boston.


Tamera Schlueter

Tam Schlueter adopts a "strike-fast-and-keep-them-laughing" approach to writing. Her column appears every Thursday in the Hastings Tribune, and showcases the wonder of family, dogs, muscle cars, and folks with blue collars and no-nonsense attitudes.

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