one year ago today

April skies opened up and poured over us. I can still hear the soft pats, and an email notification shows up reminding me that it's been a year since the Boston bombing. My mind goes to a friend of a friend who was comforting a child injured from the bombing. It still seems surreal. Those actions hit in a place I consider at home. Posts from my friends that day were like "there's a lot of smoke coming from Boylston Street." I know a lot of people drank heavily that night and watched the ensuing chase on TV. I've walked down those streets, friends lived down the street from the bombers. I don't doubt the older brother had something to do with a triple murder that happened in Waltham.

But a year later, after the shock and the worry I needed to be reminded by an email notification. I'm a little disturbed by that, but maybe I shouldn't be. I am not really connected to this, I wasn't there. I was here, yet it hits me like I was there; friends of mine were there.  People that I am connected to by other people, were there. It feels personal.