We live in a suburb of Boston. We weren’t near the explosions, or even at the marathon today. No one we know was hurt. Yet I still find myself wandering from room to room–sitting, standing, pacing–unable to be in one place long enough even to turn on the light.
Zoey followed me around for a while, padding behind me in her red and white polka dot footy pajamas. Then she got distracted by the tickle of the cat’s fur on the palm of her hand, the smell of dinner, a blue bird on the branch out the front window. She doesn’t know what happened today, but she can feel it. We all can. The world isn’t what it was when we woke up this morning.
I’ve have this ache to call everyone I care about. I don’t why, I wouldn’t know what to say. We weren’t there. We weren’t hurt. We’re fine. We are grateful. My mom and my dad both reached me from separate locations, their voices like a soothing balm. I called my best friend and said, “I’m sad.” and then just stopped talking. I sunk in to the sound of her voice for a few seconds, letting it light some of the darkness inside me.
Brenna over at Suburban Snapshots tweeted today, “World, be better.” And even though I’m fine, I’m safe, I’m still down on my knees whispering her plea, World, be better. World, be better. World, be better. My voice may be quiet, but my heart is keening.