This week, I’m going to put the hot takes aside, there is nothing controversial about this column. I’m not calling out any factions of this campus like I did with NSO two weeks ago and I’m not calling out any newspapers like I did with the Boston Globe one week ago, instead, I want to take some time to remember a key event in our lives.
Three years ago this past week, an event that I’ll never forget occurred. I grew up with the Boston Marathon as a huge part of my life. I won’t lie, at first, Marathon Monday was simply a day where there was no school and a Red Sox game on the second I woke up at 11:30. As I grew older, I began to realize the important of Patriots Day. Being from Woburn, minutes away from Lexington where the Revolutionary War began, this day means something. It’s the marathon, it’s the Sox, it’s history. As a freshman at Springfield College in the spring of 2013, it was more of the same.
While I had class that afternoon, I still spent the morning watching the Red Sox, which concluded with a walk-off win over the Tampa Bay Rays. Later that day, after returning from class, I sat on my computer and typed up a homework assignment. That’s when the most eventful week of my life began. I vividly remember my roommate looking at me and saying that Felger and Mazz were on television saying something was wrong at the Marathon, that there was an explosion. Moments later, we began to realize what had transpired. I’ll never forget going on 89.9 WSBC later that evening for out weekly talk show and just being in shock, not knowing what to say. It was a strange afternoon to say the least.
I, and many others here, take pride in being from Boston. Sure, you can make fun of the accent and our love for our sports teams, but it’s a special feeling being from that city. When it came under attack that day by two Islamic terrorists, it was like we all felt it. Our day, our event, was hit.
The moments that stick out for me the most happened two nights later when a wild police chase began. One officer was killed as the two suspects from the bombing reemerged and attempted another run. Sitting in the common room in the basement of Massasoit Hall watching this is a feeling I won’t forget anytime soon. See, my grandfather was very sick at the time and I knew my mother was with him at the hospice house, which was close to where these pressure cooker bombs were going off during this chase. To say I was horrified is an understatement. I was sick.
After almost two nights, the chase concluded in a backyard where the suspect was caught and arrested. His brother, the other suspect? Dead in the chase, paying the ultimate price for his cowardly crime. I remember it because I was visiting my sick grandfather in a hospice home just about a mile and a half away. I’ll never forget sitting in the driveway of that house hearing the gunshots and watching the madness from afar. It was almost like being part of a movie and it has stuck with me to this day. Every year I’m reminded of this and it hurts.
The next morning, the Red Sox held a ceremony at Fenway and the team had Neil Diamond sing “Sweet Caroline”. The Sox came back and won and David Ortiz proclaimed this as OUR City, with an extra word thrown in. That same morning, I lost my grandfather, who was an idol to me and who I still miss dearly to this day. The craziest week in my life had come to a close.
I tell you this story for a simple reason, to make you remember. They say that time heals all wounds, but it seems like time makes us forget. We shouldn’t forget about tragedies like the Marathon Bombing, we should remember them and we should honor those who lost their lives. I saw a lot of jokes about the bombing on social media this past week and that bother me quite a bit. That’s why I felt the need to write this today, to remind folks about that awful day in Boston’s history. God Bless.