It’s been a while, but Gill mailed me this this morning.
Is it wrong that I have absolutely no memory of where I was when this happened or that today is the second anniversary of it? I’m not trying to belittle the situation (sometimes I fail to belittle things), but I’ve been searching my brain for clues and my 2 best guesses are that I was either stuck in a Walmart line or sitting on the toilet when the CBC News alert hit my phone. Why did those things suddenly stop working, anyway? Budget cuts?
And I’m going to answer the question she asks at the end with a hearty I don’t know, because until something horrific happens to you I imagine you have no idea how you’re going to react. I’ve watched more than my share of true crime shows, and often there’s that moment near the end where somebody in the victim’s family says something like “I’ve forgiven him for what he did, but I’ll never understand why he took our Stacy away from us.” Having just watched an hour’s worth of documentary on Stacy’s unfortunate torture and butchery, the mere thought of entertaining the thought of forgiveness seems ludicrous. But at the same time it’s awfully difficult to live life constantly holding a grudge, a lesson I learned through experiences not even close to being in the same league as the torture and butchery of a treasured loved one. At some point you almost certainly have to let something go in order to move on, but how do you get there? Some, though you know it wasn’t, make it sound so easy. Others, unfortunately, never find that place. I like to think I know which group I’d be in, but I also hope I’ll never need to find out.
And now, Gill.
Exactly two years ago today at the beloved Boston marithon an act of extreme evil occurred. Right as runners crossed the finish line two bombs went off killing three, and injuring many more.
Where Were You?
I was just going about the usual stuff, reading, eating, and not paying much in the way of attention. That was until I turned on the TV hoping to get my entertainment fix, but instead, NBC had some news coverage which went on until seven-thirty that night.
When I realized the scope of this act of evil it was the next evening. At first I didn’t react, until my roommate at the time kept talking about it. What really raised my hackles was finding out one of the three dead was an eight-year-old. At that moment shock turned to cold hard rage.
The Option To Pray
Several days later I was seated where I could be found most Saturdays, in church. My pastor had suggested that we pray for the salvation of the surviving bombing suspect.
Would you be able to forgive someone who wronged you, or is forgiveness a closed door for you?