Boston. Marathon. Terror. Hope.

I am not really from Boston. I have lived my whole life in Natick, save for the four years I lived at Boston College – which is in Newton. I do not know my way around Tremont Street very well, I definitely have no idea what bus goes where, and I rarely go to any bars or restaurants in the city. But, like that line in the Standells’ song, “Boston, you’re my home.”

Being not-from-Boston meant that I was not in Boston yesterday. I, like thousands of others, watched the atrocities unfold on my television screen: a ‘breaking news’ email turned into seemingly endless hours of watching local news coverage, the pictures and videos becoming repetitive yet never losing their ability to rattle anyone watching. And throughout an afternoon filled with anger, confusion, and sadness, there were four things I saw throughout the news coverage: Boston, the Marathon, terror, and hope.

I saw Boston. I saw a city that is as well known for its cutting-edge industries as it is for its enduring historical legacy. I saw a city where an old State House sits in the midst of towering skyscrapers, where a row of bricks marks a nation’s march toward independence, and where little statues of ducks actually mean something to people. I saw a city where green, red, orange, blue and silver all lead to different places, but where people of all places and colors come to study and learn.  I saw a city that on a Monday in April closes down some of its busiest roads to celebrate the triumph of a rebellious yearning for freedom and the athletic prowess of thousands of individuals.

I saw the Marathon. I saw years of sweat and tears poured into a 26.2 mile run that means everything to some and something to everyone. I saw children handing out orange slices and bottles of water, runners reaching out to give ‘high-fives,’ and crowds upon crowds lined up to witness it all. I saw a hill that pushes the limits of endurance, and the unconquerable will of the men and women who ascend that hill. I saw my alma mater, and the rows of BC students lined up along Commonwealth Ave, bringing back memories of standing along that part of the route to cheer the runners on. And, at about 3:00 in the afternoon, I saw the pristine beauty of the day shattered by an act of unfathomable cruelty.

I saw terror. I heard bang and saw an explosion, followed by a rising puff of white smoke. I saw shattered glass, bloodstained sidewalks, and people embracing one another or looking for their loved ones to embrace. I saw a disgusting, sickening, egregious act of ignorance and cowardice, perpetrated by someone (as far as we know) who – in my estimation – has a depraved morality and no respect for the dignity of human life. I saw a city get attacked. In the midst of it all, however, I saw the response.

I saw hope. I saw pictures and videos of police officers immediately reaching for their weapons, checking on the people around them, and moving toward the danger. I saw runners cross the finish line only to turn around and run back to the chaos. I saw first responders instantaneously use the training they had received, doing everything they could to deal with an event they never saw coming. I saw large groups of military and security personnel descend upon Boston to monitor, investigate, and calm and the situation. I saw doctors treat patient after patient, never wavering or tiring or giving any sense of helplessness. I saw emails and text messages flying back and forth with people asking one another if they and their loved ones are okay. I saw a Mayor, a Governor, and a President each step up to the microphone to remind us all that we will get through this and will do so together. I saw a city look resolutely into the face of evil and say, “No.” I saw runners posting messages on Facebook, vowing to run or run again next year – vowing to finish the race in honor those who cannot. I saw friends’ messages offering their homes and apartments to anyone who is stuck in the city. I saw a city that I love get knocked down, and I saw the people that I love stand back up to say that this is our city, these are our streets, and these are our friends and neighbors. And we are here for you.

There is grief, and we should each take the time we need to mourn the loss of life. We should keep the victims, and their families, in our thoughts and prayers. We should thank the first responders and law enforcement officers we see scattered throughout the city these next few days. And, above all else, we should remember that line from that song we all know: Boston, you’re my home.