As I turned my car toward home today, I was suddenly
struck by a mighty surge of nostalgia. It stabbed my heart. My eyes
watered. The back of my throat throbbed.
Nostalgia is a
Homeric word literally meaning 'pain or ache'. That
is certainly how it hit this afternoon—a physical hurting and longing for a time or place now
gone.
Was it the way the
sun slanted through the clouds? I wondered. Maybe it was that hint of
green at the tips of tree branches lining the street? Or perhaps it was the
song playing on the radio? I'm not sure... But suddenly I was transported back to
a moment I hadn't thought of in many years.
Abruptly I longed
to be young. I ached to be at my childhood home in a more innocent time
of life. The events of this past week may have triggered this reaction.
The bombings at the Boston Marathon occurred on Monday, April 15, 2013.
Another layer of naivety was stripped away from America
I know one of the marathon racers running Monday. She said the finish line was within sight
when she heard the blast. She assumed it
was a celebratory cannon shot or firework.
Other racers reported thinking an electrical transformer had blown or a
garbage truck had dropped a huge dumpster. These are circumstances our minds imagine could be true. They are the sorts of experiences we've had. But now, when they hear any
bang or explosion will we immediately think, “Oh, no! Another terrorist attack!”?
This is more of the injury perpetrated
upon us: changing perceptions and beliefs, altering thought processes, and
thrusting us into a state of constant suspicion and mistrust of others.
Rob and I celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary on
Monday, April 15. Between a visit to Huntsman
Cancer Institute in the morning and terrible news on the radio about Boston
