Boston Strong: from Tragedy to Triumphs

Item Information

Title:
Boston Strong: from Tragedy to Triumphs
Description:
Louise Kennedy Corrigan recommended sharing this essay my daughter, Lea Rose Milando, recently wrote for her English class about her experience at the Marathon and Boston Strong. Lea is currently a junior at Concord Carlisle High School. Attached are pics before the explosion.
Creator:
Milando, Lea
Date:
April 2013
Format:
Photographs
Location:
Northeastern University Library
Collection (local):
Our Marathon
Series:
Public submissions
Subjects:
Boston Marathon Bombing, Boston, Mass., 2013
Places:
Massachusetts > Suffolk (county) > Boston
Link to Item:
http://hdl.handle.net/2047/D20261773
Terms of Use:
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Notes:
Submission text: Boston Strong: from Tragedy to Triumphs By Lea Rose Milando I was there. I stood amongst the tightly packed crowd with my family and a friend. Even when I stood on my tiptoes and picked my head up, I could only just catch a glimpse of sweaty heads bobbing past us. Cowbells clanged noisily in celebration of the strength and accomplishment of the finishing runners. I shifted around trying to locate a gap to see through between the people in front of me. Everyone, from the man in front of us in khakis to a lady in sunglasses and a pink jacket, was turned towards the runners cheering as they went by. Boston Strong did not originate from some happy success story. It came from a deafening roar that swallowed the joyful cheers of the bells and the spectators alike and left behind an eerie silence. The sound could have been a celebratory cannon, for it sounded like the one that goes off in remembrance of the American Revolution every year at the Old North Bridge. That would have been in the mood of the marathon albeit at a weird time and in the middle of a city... Even after the blast's powerful, windy fingers shoved me, it took a minute for me to register the white smoke and debris that billowed out and rolled like thunderclouds. No one around me was turned towards the race anymore. Not only could the word "strong" accurately describe the explosion's power, but it had also grabbed people's attention and made their instincts kick in. No thoughts penetrated the fear in my mind for the fear was as thick as the debris cloud ahead. It did not matter what the explosion was; what mattered was getting out. My heels pivoted on their own accord, and my legs followed suit, taking me away from the explosion. "Suzy, look!" My aunt called out to my mother seconds later. My ears and my eyes registered what my aunt was talking about. Another explosion. My thoughts caught up with me. They were breathless, flimsy thoughts, but they were all I needed for the moment. Linking arms, my family, my friend, and I hurried off Boylston and out of the chaos of people. We passed people crammed in stores, people crying, people hugging, people desperately stabbing at their phones, people calling, people talking in shrill voices or voices on the verge of overflowing with sobs, and people who did not know what to do, where to go, or what was going on. There was nothing strong about the tears or the way the fears shook my body or the sudden abundance of distressed people in Boston. The bombs were strong, but everything including the peace and strength of the event had dissipated into terror and uncertainty. The next day I walked into the cool, darkness of the upper gym in my high school a few towns away from Boston. My feet still felt as if they had been taken out from under me as I walked to where a portion of the track team milled around. Maybe those horrible people would come here next. Clearly, that was not a logical thought; however, nothing felt predictable or reasonable at the moment. Before the tragedy, the thought of bombs going off in Boston would have been just as irrational. Strong could not be used to describe the thoughts that kicked around my mind. Strong could not be used to describe the flashbacks I had as I ran down the track and suddenly found myself on the corner of Exeter and Boylston experiencing it all over again. Of all the people on the team who had gathered there for practice, only one other person had been a witness to the white, white smoke that enveloped a large portion of the area. Another person, an alumni, had also been there. He came to practice to run in the safety and comfort of the track team, a community that he needed after running in to help the wounded at the finish line. He had been surrounded by missing limbs, blood, panic, and confusion, but he still went to help. Being closer to it, he would have felt the first blast more strongly than I did. Unlike me and countless others, he suppressed the fear as he put others before himself. He and the people who went with him that day are strong. The track team he came back to was strong not only for him, but for me and my teammate who had been there as well. For weeks following, the marathon wove itself into my everyday life. Once at a track meet in Waltham, I even screamed as a gunshot went off to my left to start the race. I do not believe that I was alone in feelings like these at that time. I cannot imagine what it would have been like to be one of those who got injured or who knew someone who had been injured or killed. However, they were not alone either. As I had the track team, those people had OneFund and all the people who rallied together to support them. OneFund was founded for the sole purpose of helping people who had been affected. The support even extended to the local youth soccer. When I was refereeing a youth soccer game, we gave a moment of silence for the boy from Dorchester who played in his local soccer league before the bomb took away his life. Strong is the amount of support that was given by the people of Boston and beyond. Strong is the way the city came together over a tragedy. I watched the news a lot after the bombing. It would loop around and repeat the same information over and over again, but I would watch because I wanted to know. I wanted to know who did it but more importantly why. Eventually, I stopped watching, for the more I watched the news, the more I would relive the experience. While I was doing that, the FBI and the police worked tirelessly tracking down the terrorists and shutting down the whole city in the process. As a result, it was not long before the criminals were found. Strong would be a great descriptor for the FBI and police force that worked to catch the terrorists. Almost a year later, the tragedy still affects us. Three people died and hundreds were injured. Some of those people will live without a limb for the rest of their life. Adrianne Haslet-Davis, for example, was a full-time dancer before the marathon. In the few seconds it took for the explosion to occur, she lost her leg; she will never get it back. Her missing leg did not stop her. It may have been difficult to relearn what she loves to do with a prosthetic leg, but she did it. Recently, she has gotten back on her foot to dance in public once again. Not only that but she is speaking out in an attempt to inspire others. She is strong. "Strong" can be a casual word, as casual as strolling down a familiar street. However, Boston Strong is not that casual "strong". Boston Strong is the united strength of the community here and its pride; Boston Strong is the resilience of its individuals; Boston Strong is the will to persevere and to continue through adversity; Boston Strong is the physical and mental strength that the city possesses. It is the refusal to live in fear and submit to others who wish us harm. It is the kind of strong that lives within us all and can be called upon when needed.
Crowdsourced submission originally received via the Our Marathon "Share Your Story" page.
Notes (historical):
Contributor Name: Lea Milando; Current Location: 01742