Tiny Dancer

April 15, 2013. It's Patriots Day in Boston. For many, it's the much dreaded tax day. For Bostonians, it's quite simply the best day of the year. It's Patriots Day.....Patriots Day. The Red Sox play. This year they win. It's Marathon Day. In spectacular temperatures and conditions, the iconic Boston Marathon is run. Serious athletes compete in one of the most illustrious races of all. Perhaps less accomplished but even more motivated runners run for causes of the heart. They run for cures. They run for loved ones lost. They run. They glory. They glory in the moment. They glory in the day.

It's a school holiday. A six-year-old, her mother, her brothers head to Copley Square. They'll watch the Marathon. They'll meet her dad. She's so excited. She reaches for her mom's hand. She skips along. She cannot imagine a more perfect day. They find the perfect spot near the finish line grandstands, all set for a perfect view. They soak up the sunshine. They soak up the energy. They soak up the joy. They take in the perfect moment. Until the moment is shattered.

Suddenly, in a sonic like boom, innocence is lost. Perfection is lost. A second explosion, and life as the beautiful six year old....this one who loves and lives to dance, this most precious Tiny Dancer.....has known it is obliterated. In a senseless moment born of a coward's sick mind, so much is lost. Frightened beyond imagining, she looks behind to see her strangely still big brother Martin. She cannot feel her leg. She's terrified to look, but she must peek down. It isn't there. Bewildered, she feels herself being scooped up, up in the arms of a fireman as her brother peacefully rests in the arms of the angels. Wide-eyed, shocked, she stares quizzically into the tearful yet strong eyes of one of Boston's finest...one trying to help her, trying to save her. He calms her. He speaks in hushed tones. He sees the horror. He thinks of his grandson. He knows the tiny dancer has lost her leg. He worries about her other, for he sees through his own tears and shock that the remaining leg is seriously injured. He is haunted by her innocent eyes, by her missing leg. She wants her mom. But on this day her mom, too, will fight for life.

Six year olds don't experience this. Tiny dancers do not experience this. Not in America. Not on Patriots Day. Not in Boston. It's a day for hot dogs...for baseball....for the exquisite athletes of the Marathon.....for school holidays....for tiny dancers.....for everything we hold precious.....for innocence.

Heroes are born. Bostonians show their grit and their resolve. America falls to her knees to pray for strength, for comfort, for justice. And I pray for a tiny dancer.




This blog post is based on bits and pieces of the hours of news coverage I have seen and heard this week and born of the pain and hurt I feel for the most innocent victims of the tragedy in Boston.