Honoring those we lost, and finding renewed strength, this Marathon Monday
The Marathon has always held a special place in my heart. When I was younger, I would go down to Boylston Street with my friends, and watch legends like Bill Rodgers and Alberto Salazar run blistering paces and set records that would stand for years. I remember seeing people I knew push through their limits in amazing ways, too. It shows what our city is made of: grit and determination; heart and hard work. It brings us together in a powerful way.
As the son of immigrants, going to the Marathon was also one of my earliest opportunities to welcome others into the city that had given my family so much. Boston has always been a beacon of hope for people all over the world. And every April, when we open our arms to athletes and fans from other countries, that legacy continues. It instilled in me a deep sense of pride that has stuck with me my whole life.
That’s what most of us felt the morning of April 15, 2013: pride. The weather was perfect. People got up early to find a good spot to cheer along the course. Kids and families couldn’t wait to enjoy one of the first warm, sunny days of spring together. It was Boston at its best: people from all different backgrounds, and all different abilities, celebrating the strength of the human spirit, together on our streets. We could never have imagined what would happen right before 3pm, just as the biggest wave of athletes reached the finish line.
When the bombs went off, that perfect moment was shattered. Where there had been joy and celebration, suddenly there was pain and chaos. Martin Richard, Lingzi Lu, and Krystle Campbell were killed. It set off a chain of events that spread fear through our city, and led to the deaths of MIT Police Officer Sean Collier, and Boston Police Officer Dennis Simmonds. Hundreds more were injured, many permanently.
In the aftermath of something so terrible and senseless, we look for the light. We try to remember that goodness fills the hearts of most people. In the minutes after the explosions, through the darkness and confusion, that goodness overflowed on the streets of Boston. We saw police officers, fire fighters, and EMT’s running toward danger. We saw businesses on Boylston Street sheltering the traumatized. We saw people running to save the lives of perfect strangers.
Within 24 hours, leaders in government, business, and philanthropy formed the One Fund, raising millions of dollars for survivors and families. I stood in solidarity with my neighbors in Dorchester, the neighborhood I grew up in, and the neighborhood I represented in the State House at the time. Thousands of us gathered in Garvey Park, and filled it with candles and prayers. We felt the embrace not only of our fellow Bostonians, but of the entire world.
Later that year, I was elected Mayor of Boston. I felt an enormous sense of responsibility to make sure the events of April 15, 2013 and the resilience our city showed, are remembered and honored forever.
Since then, we have turned the Marathon into a movement. April 15th is now a Citywide day of service and reflection called One Boston Day. We honor those we lost, support those who are still on the road to recovery, and promote togetherness in our city with acts of kindness, big and small.
Of all the things that happened after the 2013 Marathon, one I remember most vividly is the makeshift memorial people created at the site of the bombings on Boylston Street. People left running shoes there as a promise that we would finish the race for those who lost their chance. We would keep going, as a city, stronger than before. Day by day, the pile grew. I’ll never forget that.
Now, we’re installing permanent markers there. For the past few years, we have worked closely with the families of those who died. We have learned more about their lives, and how their loved ones want their stories told. The families selected an artist, Pablo Eduardo, whose thoughtful vision will become a permanent landmark this summer.
The installation will feature stone markers, on the sites of the two bombings, each reflecting the life of a person we lost. They will be made of granite, each one sourced from a place that was special to the person it represents. Boston poet Daniel Johnson worked with the families to compose words of hope, faith, and remembrance that will be etched into each of the sites. Pillars of light, encased in bronze sculpture, will surround them, and point up to the sky like a beacon. Newly planted cherry trees will bloom every year around Marathon Monday. The overall effect will represent our city’s spirit in the wake of the tragedy: bent but not broken.
Healing doesn’t happen overnight. Nothing will ever replace what we lost in 2013. But as I’ve learned in my own recovery community, all we can do is take it one day at a time. With every new dawn, we find beauty and renewed strength. We find it within ourselves, and we find it in one another.
That’s why, in addition to the markers on Boylston Street, we’re also starting to look at ways to honor Boston’s collective resilience. This resilience has existed in all our neighborhoods, ever since the first generations of immigrants set foot here. It grows every day, with neighbor helping neighbor, and people working hard to keep our city running. We want to find a way to remember and strengthen this resilience, together as a city. I’ll be inviting every Bostonian to take part in this process, starting with a citywide dialogue.
I often think about what President Obama said, when he came to Boston for an interfaith memorial service at the Cathedral of the Holy Cross: “That’s what you’ve taught us, Boston …to push on, to persevere, to not grow weary, to not get faint even when it hurts. Even when our heart aches, we summon the strength that maybe we didn’t even know we had, and we carry on; we finish the race.”
Being resilient doesn’t mean that we’re immune to pain or sorrow. Resilience means that we weather the storm together, and emerge stronger on the other side. It means confronting the wounds of our past and building a more just, more compassionate society. It means that we will never let anyone scare us into closing ourselves off to the rest of the world. We will remain a beacon of hope. Our arms and our hearts are open, on Marathon Monday and every day.
Next Monday is the 123rd running of the Boston Marathon. It’s also One Boston Day. I’ll be there, at the finish line, cheering on all the runners and wheelchair athletes who are competing for glory, or for causes greater than themselves. I’ll be thinking about Martin, Lingzi, Krystle, Sean, and Dennis. I’ll be thanking everyone who keeps them in their hearts, and keeps their memories alive with acts of kindness, big and small.
To find out what you can do to support One Boston Day, or to submit your service event, please visit: onebostonday.org.
