Share this
- Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)
- Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)
- Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window)
- Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window)
- Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)
- Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)
- Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)
- Click to email a link to a friend (Opens in new window)
- Click to print (Opens in new window)
Ouch!
LikeLike
Not in favor of repressive laws, but one of the photographs on the front page in both Boston and New York got to me. In one corner of that photo is my 8-months-pregnant sister-in-law, fleeing the stands at the finish line, clutching her two-year-old son under one arm. (You can also see a friend carrying her five-year-old son, and her six-year-old son is on the stairs behind her.) The fact that my brother was in the marathon isn’t helping much, either, although he was at Mile 24 when the blast went off. Luckily, they were across the street from the blasts, and all of my family and friends who were there were uninjured, but I am afraid that emotion is beating out logic for the time being — especially when I think about my young nephews going through that, being in the center of something no one should have to experience, or my sister-in-law making her way back to the hotel, terrified that any street she took would be the next one blown up.
LikeLike