Thoughts of Boston

I cradle it gently in my hands, taking care not to let go. My finger traces the etchings of BOSTON on the side of the mug, and it somehow represents more to me than a simple souvenir. I'm remembering what I left behind. I drain the heated brew taking it in, swallowing it down as I wonder when the lump in my throat will follow.
I've been asked, "How are you?" and I find that that question has never been so difficult to answer. I can't find the words. I can't choose any certain feeling among the many that are holding me hostage. This is one of many thoughts that have kept my mind busy over the past week. So many questions, so few answers and the weight of it all brings me to my knees where I can only seem to utter one word, "God?"
I was standing just beyond the 26 mile marker, a tribute to those 26 lives recently silenced by the unexpected evil in Newtown, Connecticut. I, being one witness of many sharing in the joy of those who had left behin…
I've been asked, "How are you?" and I find that that question has never been so difficult to answer. I can't find the words. I can't choose any certain feeling among the many that are holding me hostage. This is one of many thoughts that have kept my mind busy over the past week. So many questions, so few answers and the weight of it all brings me to my knees where I can only seem to utter one word, "God?"
I was standing just beyond the 26 mile marker, a tribute to those 26 lives recently silenced by the unexpected evil in Newtown, Connecticut. I, being one witness of many sharing in the joy of those who had left behin…