Rain can be cleansing and refreshing, replenishing to the soil and the earth, preventing droughts, and renewing the land.
Today, the rain and the gray clouds are like teardrops on the pavement.
Boston did not have to happen. The lives lost did not have to happen. A little 8 year old boy did not have to die, his little 6 year old sister maimed for life, his mother fighting life threatening illnesses.
Teardrops are falling.
I tried hard not to listen to the news yesterday and even this morning as more and more reports are coming in. It is unsettling, unknowing, and uncertain - the feelings that tower over us all in the light of another tragedy.
One often wants to just ask "why?" when this happens, when anything that is beyond our comprehension devastates lives. We are still healing from a tragic loss four months ago and now another one is set on the national stage.
A good friend of mine is a Muslim woman and she fears the questioning that will happen to anyone with a Muslim face or name, Fox news already calling for the death of Muslims because of Boston. We chatted and reassured each other of the good in man.
I know it will be a while before the bomber is identified, the FBI has a daunting task upon them. Those of us who were old enough to remember Atlanta know the feeling of the waiting for answers. I was in my early twenties back in 1986.
The terrorists, domestic (like the kid with Newtown) or international (like 9/11) all act to unsettle people, to create fear in the hearts of many, and to utterly change the normal lives. The people that die are collateral damage to them for the longer lasting psychological damage they inflict. We are still feeling the effects of 9/11 and the never-ending-war, armed forces with injuries worse than Vietnam, and a nation that practically stripes in the airport.
To cause the heart to constrict, the brow to fret, the temples to bead - all acts of a gripping fear - is what the individuals who do these things want. They are narcissistic and crave the attention their event causes, even if their names are spoken in death (like the Newtown shooter), they receive the thing they want the most.
As the rain continues to pound down on my balcony and I shudder in the resulting chill, I also stand resolved with the people of Boston and the world runners that this will not change our outlook on man, on the decency in all of us, that despite the cowardice of an anonymous villain the mighty strength of us all will tower over them. We are a force of good and love and sunlight, even in the midst of tears and pain.
Raindrops can wash away the dirt, the old, and shine what remains, this is what will happen with Boston, with us all, teardrops and rain.
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