A different view of the inner city. Spring 2019.
A whirlwind of colors whizzed outside my desk window. They were the bright reds of fire trucks and the dizzying, flashing sirens of ambulances.
Is it safe to walk to my car?
Usually I don’t feel anxious about my commute, despite working in the “rough” side of town. But those emergency vehicles had lingered for quite some time.
Several years ago.
Knock Knock. I opened the hospital room door to check on my patient.
The bed was empty.
Oh no… Continue reading
some things that only God understands…
What does it take
to change a life
from within?
Young and fearless
those 3 words,
inscribed on your chest
Invincible you were
til one day,
gun shots fired Continue reading
“You showed us, Boston, that in the face of evil, Americans will lift up what’s good. In the face of cruelty, we will choose compassion. In the face of those who would visit death upon innocents, we will choose to save and to comfort and to heal. We’ll choose friendship. We’ll choose love. Because Scripture teaches us God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love and self-discipline.”
-President Obama
It’s been a tough week. Thanks Mr. President for this reminder.
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a repost from my old blog. life before the tragedy.
The cityscape twinkled beyond the windows, as the train slowly crossed the bridge. It was dusk; the darkness looming and the sky scraper lights illuminating. Peering out, old memories began to flood my mind. I remembered the hundreds of times which I admired this same scene: the river, the buildings, the lights. Except I wasn’t on the train those times, I was at the bedside, in the hospital.
A view of the Charles River, Summer 2008
Today was difficult. After seeing a terror attack strike my beloved city, how could you go on and still be the same?
I tried. Before catching my bus, I quickly nabbed a Globe. (Mainly for my scrapbook, to document for future generations to remember.)
“Marathon terror…” “Tragedy Halts Marathon…” “Tight Security Will be Rule Today…” I read the articles along the commute. About the boys who lost their legs. About the 8 year old victim. About the unsung heroes.
But arriving to work, it was back to business. I needed to be there mentally, emotionally, for myself, and for my patients. I picked right up with where my nursing duties had left off prior to the long weekend. During the workday, my heart was heavy, but I couldn’t express it. There just wasn’t time for it.
It was a long day. Dreadfully long. By sunset, as I descended upon my neighborhood, still afresh with police and FBI presence, I was about ready to burst. The insides of my chest, fresh grief wanting to spill out onto the sidewalk. Continue reading
Searching for Substance 