Little Dublin.

Have you ever been sitting, relaxing, and suddenly become fully aware of your beating heart?

Stopped and thought about that organ in your center.

Your whole being revolving around its constant impulses.  Whether you remain standing on your two feet of not, is relying on the machine in your body, pumping its life fuel thru your veins.

You think about it some more.

You put your hand on your chest.

You listen.

Relax some more.

And maybe thank God for the good work its doing on a second by second basis.
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Its kind of a cool moment.

But more often than not, you awake each morning and worry about having time to chug your premium blend coffee.  You wonder what shoes you should wear to work, if there will be traffic, if you will make it on time, and what your day will be like.


You don't even think about breathing.
You completely ignore your beating heart.


But sometimes, whether it be stress or grief, or utter joy, you become completely engulfed by the beat box inside you.

Its noise.
Its sound.
Its raw beauty.

This is Boston to a New Englander.

It is the beating heart of the great North.



As I type I cry.  I mourn for the great city that defines my upbringing.  Raised to be tough, sarcastic, stubborn, loyal, proud of who you are and untrusting of anyone who isn't related to you...but in this moment I feel weak.

Was I directly impacted by the injuries of yesterday? No. Praise be to God for that.   But does it feel as though by heart has been stabbed.

Indefinitely.

I ache for the Mother whose 8 year old son wont be coming home from Patriots Day celebrations.  No parades. Whose son won't be enjoying his spring break this week. No swimming lessons. No summer to look forward to.  No ice cream cones, or bike rides with Dad. No more Christmas presents under his tree.
I weep with her.

I grieve for all the victims who will never walk the same.  Their families and the obstacles they now have to face for the rest of their lives.

The ones who lost parts of their body never allowing them to race 26.2 miles again on a humid, but leaveless tree April weather weird day.  Those whose eardrums have been blown out so they can never hear the roar of the crowd at a Sox game again.  The ones who survived this never to sleep a good nights sleep again.

I pray for them.

I wrench for the toughest city this country has.  A town that's so small you can walk from one end to the other.  Start at the ocean and follow the Hood Blimp, and you'll be sure to find Fenway.
Boston.
Whose face got slapped so hard yesterday, we had no other cheek to turn.

Was I raised in Boston? No, we lived in a city south west far outside of Boston.  But does that make me any less from it? 

No.

If you are from Massachusetts you are from the greatest Commonwealth.  You love its Capital. It is the most loyal, prideful, and true to themselves blue collar place there is. There is no other place quite like it, not even New York, can compare.  I can't explain it to the greatest extent until you experience it.  It took a bit for my husband to understand, but even though he feels it- he has a hard time explaining the loyalty that is New England.

Would you see this loyalty to one another inside the state?
Nope.

Not really.

Were obnoxious.

Were rude to one another.

We are always right.

We lay on the horn if you don't use your directional.

Our opinions are 100% correct.

We are suspicious of anyone who uses your driveway as a turn around.

We eat meatballs- and NO ONES meatballs are better than your Mothers.

We don't give two shits if you went to Harvard.

We gripe about the weather.

We REMAIN FANS to the same team that LOST 86 YEARS IN A ROW- (you wanna compare what it "means to be a fan?" go for it.)

But step outside of New England and the attitude changes- 

Are hearts get softer.

They beat a little slower.

Meet up with another random person from Stowe ( a place you've been to all of twice in your life) while your out in the grocery store?  Wow- somehow thru your new found connections (third cousins, uncle, who married into the family, had a neighbor selling puppies, and your best friends brother in law bought one.  You bought one too.-)-- yup its like you grew up together, and now have so much to talk about. To catch up on. To joke about all the little nuances you miss about your state.  You talk about the Sox as if they are your communal family members. You never fail to mention how Brady took a pay cut JUST to stay with the Patriots all these years.  You can both tell a story of how you got to see one the SuperBowl rings at the Italian restaurant you were at, when the teams doctor came in and showed it off. You never mention the team losses- only wins and victories. All the sudden your dropping your "ahs," and your talking about the big bad Southie projects.  You mention Whitey like a local scumbag hero. You hate to love him.  Your upbringing is discussed. What church you went to and what is was like on Sundays at your grandparents.  You drop street names of Boston as if you hung out there every Friday night. You talk about your sledding adventures as kids during the three straight blizzards we got that Christmas.  Your favorite delis are compared but never told one is better than the other. You miss Mikes Bakery. Bulkies, and Wachusett potato chips.  You leave the half owah impromptu conversation feeling fed.......  Its really like that.  You walk away feeling as though you really DID just catch up with an old friend.  Your heart beats a little harder.  There is someone else who gets that same drum rhythm.

They also march to that beat.

Its the Boston beat.

 "Failte go mBoston dheas" 

So like I mentioned before- was I directly affected by yesterdays bombing.....

let me re-answer that

Yes.

My beating heart and all that I grew up with was hurt.  It was stabbed.  It was pinched.  Wrenched. Punched. Slapped. Squeezed a little too hard.

For the brief moment that Our heart had an attack- I think we all felt the pain.
But the heart did not stop beating......

Like the stubbornness that IS our Commonwealth- my heart- OUR HEART will overcome this.

The scare of the bombing might always remain. Red, and raised.  Ugly, and uneven.

But it will only make our Beating Boston Hearts Beat Stronger.

I love you Boston.