Before and After

I don't quite feel up to saying all that I want to say, if that makes any sense--what I mean is, I may not make a lot of sense here. Yesterday was supposed to be such a big day, for me, in a good way, and I'm kind of numb in the face of how quickly and completely that changed. Yesterday was a long day, but full of excitement until 3. Today was just a long day. News flash: depression is not as much fun as excitement.

Patriot's Day is a pretty big thing around here and you don't have to be a runner, or particularly interested in history, for it to feel special. Driving through Concord Saturday night to meet friends for dinner, I passed alongside part of the Minute Man National Park, and in two different spots along the trail, I could see redcoats walking along, re-enactors enjoying the nice evening. They would have gotten up before dawn Monday, to stage the battle of Lexington and Concord, the "don't fire until you see the whites of their eyes," "shot heard round the world" battle that we all learned about in school. The weather was great for the runners, unlike last year when it was so hot. It's a holiday for a lot of people, a party atmosphere. And then.

[I had to read the Globe this morning, even knowing how upsetting it would be. And it was, of course. One woman's two adult sons each lost a leg. They were both laid off recently--as roofers. (To add literal insult to injury, they are in two different hospitals. That's no one's fault, I guess, but as though the family wasn't going through enough.)]

Another day that splits the world into Before and After.

Before, my biggest wish on Monday was for my headache to go away. I'd had it, on and off, since Friday, and was trying not to panic at the idea of it spoiling my big excursion. Surely it would go away! Or the adrenaline would carry me through.

Before, I was so excited. My friend sent me a text photo of the tickets in the morning. So exciting! Really in row 1! Whoa, $300 each?

Before, I was hoping that Bergeron would play, and pleased to hear that Marchand skated with the team in the morning.

Before, I was tracking my​ two friends running the marathon on the ​BAA website, ​thinking how very cool ​it was ​to be able to do​ that, and wondering why they list the splits by 5K, 10K, etc, and then give min/mile and miles/h?​ Are we metric or are we not?

After, I keep thinking of my friend, half a mile from the finish, confused when the runners were stopped. Of her family, waiting for her near the finish. They're all fine, everyone I know is fine, I'm so lucky, we're so lucky, but I keep thinking of how close it was, how the lightning nearly hit.
I saw her Saturday night--it could have been the last time.
I rocked her boys as babies--they could be gone.
A boy who died was eight years old. One of the pictures of him that surfaced today shows him in a Bruins jersey, at a game.

I don't know. Clearly I have no answers. Here's what I've got: from a page of videos of various NHL games last night having moments of silence for Boston, there's the anthem in Chicago before the Blackhawks game.

What you have there is an older man in uniform (WWII maybe?), a younger man in uniform, and an ordinary man in an ordinary suit. Ordinary, that is, until he starts singing. Wow! Can he ever sing that anthem. (Chicago, you people are spoiled.) You should really listen.

Meanwhile, the scalloped potatoes are ready to come out of the oven, and I'm going to watch Robin Williams*, because if that doesn't cheer you at all, check your pulse.
*This is what taught me that I could laugh again, after 9/11.

Tomorrow will be better. Just keep saying it, eventually it's true.