The Gift

I promised myself at this journey's beginning of sharing our experiences with friends and family that I would be honest and forthright about what I was feeling during our missionary days, focusing on the positive but not sugarcoating either; if things were going badly, I would write about it.  Tonight, I am going to open my heart and share, if I am able, the emotional roller coaster of ten days ago, when a dream for our family was realized, and the dreams of many other families were crushed and broken on Boylston Street in Boston.

I have a daughter who shares my passion (former passion, really) for running.  She has been a talented, dedicated runner for years and finally realized her dream of qualifying to join thousands of other runners on Patriot's Day in Boston to pass the grueling test of the 26.2 miles from Hopkinton to Copley Square.  We were all so thrilled for her accomplishment; anxious to find ways to share with her our happiness in the realization of something she had worked so hard to achieve and that is a milestone for runners everywhere.  The two other girls in the family immediately began making plans to join their older brother, who lives there, where all together they could scream, cheer, and jump up and down as she ran by.  On Monday, April 15, with butterflies in her stomach, our daughter began her "dream run" from the starting line in Hopkinton into Boston, with two sisters, a brother-in-law, and a brother waiting to yell her number somewhere along the route.  She and I had talked of the rush of coming up Hereford Street and turning the corner onto Boylston, with the thousands of screaming spectators and the sight of the Hancock Building slicing the sky right by the finish line..."almost there, blink back the tears of joy". She was ready, as were many others who were thrilled to be there either to participate by running or participate by supporting the efforts of others.

She had a terrific day, finishing in 3:37.  Her cheering squad had difficulty finding her in the crowd and had lingered too long at Heartbreak Hill, causing them to make a mad dash back to the finish line where they hoped to see her sprint to glory.  They were too late, thankfully, emerging from the subway at 4:09, that awful moment when the celebration of excellence and the strength of the human spirit morphed into a nightmare beyond comprehension.  Our son's phone began ringing immediately, his day with his family was over, time to report for duty.  He took them back to his apartment, quickly grabbed his needed equipment and rushed back in the center of it all.  Gratefully, contact between family members was briefly possible, assuring them that all were safe, but they couldn't see their sister, whose hotel room was in the heart of the lockdown area.  After that, no phone service, no contact, a brother who was gone, telling them only that he had no idea if he would be home in a few hours or a few days.  Luckily, our youngest daughter had the presence of mind to send out a family email informing everyone that all family members were safe.  When Brent and I got the email, we didn't even know the scope of what had happened, only that there had been a disturbance at the finish line.  I can't even imagine watching the horrific video coverage of what happened there without the knowledge that our loved ones were safe...not exactly sure where, but safe.

We received a very precious gift that day, the gift of the safety of our family members; others were not so fortunate and we can not even imagine the horror of that day for them.  I have tried not to dwell, while here, on things I cannot have or cannot control, but I experienced many floods of anguished emotions thinking of how far away I was and how long it would have taken us to get home if things had turned out otherwise, probably three days, best case scenario.  Also, we were unable to talk to our son until after the second suspect was apprehended.  We didn't know what his assignments required or where he was, learning only later that at one point, he had worked 36 hours without a break.  To say it was a difficult week would lessen the significance of those whose week was truly difficult, whose weeks will never the same, whose lives have been changed forever.  But it was a stressful time for us.   I am sure of one thing, and that is that the marathon will both continue, and continue to be a celebration of the acceptance of challenge, of going beyond the finish line, of the importance of cheering others on, of the reality of human goodness, and of the miracle of being a part of life and all that comes with it.

The gift....of life... of love...and of the strength of the human heart.

We love and appreciate you, our family and our friends.

Mom and Dad

Brent and Joan