The Milly and Grace Girls

I had my post announcing the winner of the Best Eggs Benedict ready to publish, but hitting the “publish” button for that post didn’t feel right to me this morning. I felt like I was ignoring the elephant in the room. A big elephant. One that was sitting on my heart.

I first heard about the tragedy in Boston via Twitter when I was making my way to my fourth class of the day. I really couldn’t believe what I was reading. I didn’t want to believe it. Boston is where I was born, where family friends live, where I have walked the streets of the bombing site plenty of times to know it well. This tragedy hit a little close to home for me. Tears were welling up in my eyes (as they are now as I write this). My heart broke for Boston. And for the victims and their families. I can’t imagine the loss, pain, and terror they must be feeling. In that moment, I said a prayer of love and healing for them and for Boston.

And then the question of how could someone do something like this came to the forefront of my mind, as this question usually does following news of a tragedy. And that’s when my heart broke again. For the lost one, who was the mastermind behind this tragic plan. As much as I wanted to hate this person, I knew this person needed love and prayers too. Because we don’t know this person’s background, how they were raised, and what they were taught. For all this person knew, this plan may have been the right thing to do in this person’s mind (as crazy as it sounds to us). And in that moment, I said a prayer of love and healing for that person too.

And as I kept thinking of Boston, I couldn’t help but think of Tom Shadyac and all of his wisdom he has taught me over the semester. He has taught me to fight violence with love, and to be grateful for the low notes in this symphony of life. Because it is the low notes that allow the high ones to be heard. So, those who played those high notes yesterday – the ones who first responded, the ones who ran toward the smoke, the runners who continued to run to the hospital to donate blood – your high notes were heard. And as hard as it is to say I am grateful for the low note…I am grateful. Because in the midst of all this hurt and confusion, it is the players of the high notes, who would not have been heard without the low note, that give me hope that one day love will prevail.

(Photo: @kjp Instagram)