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The Everett Session by Rachel Rawlinson

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Be Strong

I wrote this one for Boston.


"This will be our reply to violence: to make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before."

-Leonard Bernstein

We Are Not Broken

My experience at the 2013 Boston Marathon
Be sure to click on the images to see them in their entirety, especially the last two. 

Lelisa Desisa Benti, winner of the 2013 Boston Marathon crosses the finish line. Rita Jeptoo would win the women's division for the 2nd time in her career.

Boston is a city that tests even the strongest of people. When I moved here 19 months ago, we started off on the wrong foot. I had a hard time making friends, the way people drove made me crazy, and the roads were the most confusing I had seen in the U.S. The people at church were not as friendly as I had come to expect. I moved here from the D.C. metro area, where things had seemed to come so easily to me. I had made friends quickly; even though the traffic was off the charts, the roads mostly made sense; and when people made crazy driving maneuvers, they got pulled over or received a photo-enforced ticket in the mail. The contrast between the people in D.C. who are so quick to network and the brisk manner of the Bostonians that now surrounded me was a bit overwhelming.

Still, I loved being in the city, seeing the sites, and exploring the places of historical significance I had once visited as a kid, but I genuinely struggled to find my place for several months. My job was not what I expected, and though my employers were really happy with my work, I was not. I felt like I was hitting rock bottom, and I wasn't sure what to do. I was depressed. I wanted to leave, but I felt a strong and inexplicable need to be here. Every time I prayed about leaving Boston, I received an impression I needed to stay. As time went by, Boston slowly got under my skin. I didn't notice it happening, but it became a part of me. The strength of the people started to rub off on me. It can be hard to get to know Boston at first, or to grow any sort of connection with the stalwart locals. Once you start to understand them, though, you'll never want to let them go. Their quick and dry humor can cut like the sharpest knife, or heal you with the laughter you needed. I even started to like all the quirky roads, and the longer I stayed, the more I realized that nobody could get to know this city and not love it. I made changes in my attitude and grew to love my life here. This was the right place to be. Here, I found a resilience in myself I didn't know I had. The struggle to belong made the connection to Boston that much sweeter and stronger when it finally formed. I was hooked.

The music in the city (from the Symphony to the Conservatory to Longy to street performers to concert venues) was a healing balm to my broken heart. I liked the way people quickly united at a Sox game when normally they wouldn't give each other a second glance. I took my parents to a game when they were in town, and the crowd got a wave going that went all the way around the park literally SEVEN TIMES. I had never seen anything like it. Every time it came around I thought, "Surely this is the last time!" and every time it came around again. The only thing that made us stop was a home run that brought us all to our feet. I went to a Celtics game against the Utah Jazz (my home team), and I caught myself cheering for both sides. The crowd around me was pretty entertained, if not confused. Boston themed items started making their way into my wardrobe and jewelry. I found myself giving a "hooray!" every time I heard Boston mentioned in a movie or an article. I found that I wanted to show my fair city off to anyone who would see it, and I offered my apartment as a place to stay for any of my friends who ever wanted to head north to see me.

I was so excited when my good friend Taci asked if she could come visit during the marathon with her friend Andrew and Lindy, her ex-sister-in-law, who would be running the Boston Marathon. When they arrived here, we quickly discovered how well we all got along. We saw some of the sights around Boston together and laughed A LOT. Lindy spent a good chunk of time doing a scavenger hunt with Altra shoes, and she won the hunt! It was pretty cool. She got all sorts of swag from them. We had so much fun all weekend, and those are memories I will always cherish. <3>

Andy's "thirsty" pose at the U.S.S. Constitution. He's such a willing model. ;-)

Standing in line at Mike's Pastry for cannoli. Yum!

Andy, Taci, and Lindy rolling Gansta Style at Fenway Park.

Taci's best gansta pose; pretty good if you ask me.

Sometimes people ride through Boston in costume on a horse. Totally normal, I promise.

Lindy, my fast friend (in more ways than one).

Modeling for my friends at Mt. Auburn Cemetery.

(Photo credit: Andrew Damstedt)

Andy and Taci being serious with Longfellow.

Taci walks like an Egyptian. 

On Sunday night, we wrote Lindy's name on her leg so people along the course would be able to cheer for her by name. I'm so grateful for everyone who did. She said it helped so much. If you ever run a marathon, you should try it!

On Monday morning, Taci and I got up to help Lindy prep for the Boston Marathon. We made her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to eat before the race and duct taped her runner's bag because those things fall apart at the seams the moment the runners put anything in them. 

Taci gave Lindy a hug for good luck before Lindy and I ventured out into the still dark morning.

Lindy and I watched the sun rise over Boston as we drove downtown at 5:30 a.m. on April 15th, 2013.

At about 6 a.m., I dropped Lindy off at Park St. & Tremont St. at the Boston Common to take the bus with the other runners to the start line in Hopkinton. I gave her a hug and took her cell phone with me back home to be returned at the finish line.

At that point, I went home and slept for a few more hours. We woke up and made signs to cheer Lindy on. Lindy's start time was 10:20 a.m. Andy, Taci, Chelsee, Jacob and I hopped in my car and headed to the halfway mark in Wellesley to cheer. 

Even though we were there when Lindy crossed the halfway mark at 12:07, we didn't even see her because there were so many runners! We cheered for the runners we saw, and whenever we saw someone's name written on them, we yelled for them really loudly. We saw Team Hoyt go by, which was really cool. You can see their story here if you're not sure what I'm talking about, or read this great article. You can see the Hoyts in the picture below. We also saw several amputees and two blind runners with guides go by. I was overwhelmed by the power of these people toughing it out against all odds, and I caught myself tearing up several times. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. I don't care how bad someone might think they look while running a marathon, all I saw was beauty! I screamed and cheered as loudly as I could for people I didn't know. We all did. That's the spirit of the marathon.

When we realized Lindy had passed without us seeing her, we hurried back to the car, drove home to park in Brighton and hopped on the T (subway) to get to Back Bay to cheer for her at the finish line. We got off the T at Hynes Convention Center, leaving Jacob on the train since he was heading to Emerson to do homework. Here we made the first choice that would end up saving us. We left from a different side of the T stop than we meant to, and that put us on the south side of Boylston, rather than the north where the bombs were placed. 

We were at the corner of Boylston and Hereford when we received the text notification that Lindy had crossed the finish line at 2:02 p.m.. We were disappointed that we were not there to cheer her on. We spent the next 25-35 minutes trying to fight our way through the crowds to the finish line. It was very slow going, and we were worried she was alone after such a long race. I took this photo when we were stopped in our progress through the crowds. We eventually moved a bit. You can see from the photo below that the sidewalks were very crowded. We were very near the finish line, but we wanted to get to the family meeting area. (You will see this photo again later.)

Chelsee and I were leading the group, and we both felt that we should cut through an alley to get farther down the street and find Lindy. At this point, it had been several minutes since she had finished and we wanted to be there for her. Had we been on the North side, we would have likely been trapped in the crowd and unable to cut across the marathon route to get to Lindy or Geno. We cut through the alley and wound up on a side street that connected us to Stuart Street about a block later, which Lindy's trainer Geno had told us was where the family meeting area was. Runners are asked to line up by the first letter of their last name to meet their family at the end of the race to minimize a bottleneck at the finish line. We met Lindy at "M"at about 2:45. This is a picture of the "Family Meeting Area M" at Stuart and Clarendon.

And here is cold Lindy!

We stood there and talked for a few minutes about the race. Lindy was so cold! All the runners we saw were freezing, and I just wanted to hug all of them and give them my jacket. We eventually continued up Stuart towards Berkeley Street to find Lindy's trainer Geno and his wife Kathy, who were waiting at the letter "A" meet up point. It was a joyful reunion between trainer and trainee!

Geno was so proud. We took a lot of pictures to remember the moment!

At this point we were at the corner of Berkeley and Stuart. We had been talking for a few minutes when we heard what sounded to me like really loud thunder; I had never heard anything quite like it. We all stopped talking and looked at the sky. It wasn't cloudy enough to be thunder. "Maybe there's a jet flying really low?" Chelsee suggested. Lindy said later she thought it sounded like cannons. We tried to shrug it off, but then it happened again. "That is not a normal Boston noise!" I said to the others. We were unsure, but we didn't hear anything else so we started walking up the street to get out of the crowd. It was 2:56.

Pretty soon we saw people running every which way. There were people shouting, and then we heard the sirens. They seemed to be coming from every direction. I started to realize there was something seriously wrong. My mind was racing with possibilities and scenarios I couldn't voice. What could have happened? I felt an uneasiness rising in my stomach. I wondered aloud if there was an accident on the T. A fire truck came through and there was a bus trying to get out of its way. Chelsee and I both shooed people out of the road and off the shoulder where the bus was trying to go. We kept seeing marked and unmarked police cars, ambulances, fire trucks, transit police. You name it, they were there in an instant. Taci heard someone say "sixty people are down". We pulled Lindy's clothes out of the bag and got her layered up so she could move around more easily. 

We walked up to the corner of Stuart and Arlington, where a news van was parked. There was a man standing by the van on a cell phone, and we asked him what happened. He looked up at us with fear in his eyes and said, "Explosion at the finish line." At that point it had been about 5 minutes since we had heard the explosions. The air was starting to get hazy, and I began to be aware of the smell of smoke and sulfur. We looked up trying to see concentrated smoke, but the buildings surrounding us were so tall, we saw nothing. 

Chelsee and I both felt our most prudent move at that point would be to get the people who had been staying at our apartment to safety. The bombs (I had no doubt there were two explosions after what we had heard) had gone off between us and home. All our usual routes were blocked. Thank heaven for Chelsee and her quick thinking and thorough knowledge of the MBTA! We powwowed and decided to take the Orange line from Back Bay to Roxbury Crossing and then take the 66 bus. At that point, we parted ways with Geno and Kathy. I told them we needed to leave for home or we would be stuck, and they should go back to their hotel in Revere or come with us. They chose to stay. Chelsee started to lead us towards Back Bay with our precious friends in tow, poor Lindy having just run a marathon. 

Then, at 3:10, I got the first text message of concern from a friend that had heard the news. I realized my family and friends would see this on the news and freak out. It started to hit me how big of a deal it was. I tried to call my parents in Utah, but the call wouldn't go out. Andy and Lindy got some calls out, but Taci, Chelsee, and I couldn't get anything through. I sent a text to my mom's phone that said, "You're gonna hear reports of an explosion in Boston. We are all okay. Love you!" I didn't want them to panic. 

I also posted on Facebook: 

I hoped that would be sufficient for people to know I was okay when they heard, and then we focused on getting home. We made sure all of our Charlie Cards (subway passes) were loaded with enough money to get home, and got on a train. People were lost and disoriented. We focused on staying together and keeping eyes on each other at all times. At the back of my mind was a niggling concern that some people might try to take advantage of people in chaos, so I was especially vigilant. I answered text messages whenever possible. Jacob, who was at the computer lab at Emerson, texted me to see if we were okay; I let him know we were. I texted my roommates and we were all glad to know all four of us were safe; then my phone's battery died. We transferred to the bus and rode it until the driver said it would turn around at Brookline Village. At one stop, a runner got on the bus without a pass, and the driver fought with him a bit about it. "I was running away from a f***ing bomb! I didn't have a pass with me!" I offered my pass to be scanned again if he needed to pay, but the driver and runner refused, saying the dispute was settled and the runner was allowed to ride. 

The bus dropped us off near Brookline Village, 1.7 miles from home, and we decided to walk. That turned out to be our best bet because all other transportation that went by our house was shut down. When we got off the bus, we met a guy named Andrew who had been sent home from his first day of work because of the bombs. He just moved here from Arkansas last week, and he said, "I don't know how to get home."

"Where are you going?" asked Chelsee.

"Brighton," Andrew said.

"We'll get you there," Chelsee said.

"Stick with us," said I.

We all started the trek home, even Lindy on her tired feet and legs. We stopped at an open wine store and the clerk let Lindy use the restroom. She talked to us about what we had experienced and said she was worried about one of her friends who was running that she hadn't heard from yet. We had a good conversation and parted ways with well-wishing. I'm so grateful she was willing to help us out, and I hope her friend is okay. On our walk home, we saw many police officers and members of the National Guard. We crossed Beacon Street and Commonwealth Avenue to get home, and there were many cars leaving the city.

We finally got home and let Lindy, Andy, and Taci in to start to wind down. Lindy needed an ice bath to keep from swelling after the marathon. Chelsee and I gave our new friend Andrew a ride to his house in my car and then grabbed pizza for everyone at our house on the way home, since none of us had eaten since between 9 and 10 that morning, and it was now after 5 p.m. I called my sisters, who had sent me frantic text messages when they had not been able to contact me. I did such a good job of minimizing the danger when I texted my mom that she didn't let anyone else in the family know I had texted her. (I should also mention here that my parents are serving a mission for our church at a historical site, and they were giving tours during all of this so they didn't have access to television or internet until later in the evening.) Luckily, one of my sisters had checked Facebook and saw my post at some point in the afternoon before I called. My sister-in-law had been one of the first to comment on my Facebook post, so she and my brother knew I was okay. My other brother didn't find out about the bombing until that evening when he got home from work and turned on the news. He texted me (since the news anchors told people not to try to call) shortly after we got home, saying, "Please tell me u weren't there." I called him immediately to let him know I was okay. 

I'm grateful for the outpouring of love and concern from my family and friends. I think it is still hitting me that I was so close to so much pain and carnage. I'm still a little numb. Writing this blog is helping. As I looked at my pictures and figured out the timeline and locations, I started to feel it hit me. I keep hearing stories of heroes. People who ran to help others repeatedly at their own peril. People who kept running past the finish line straight to the hospital to give blood to help others. People who held others in their arms as their life waned. I know that Chelsee and I followed promptings to keep those with us safe. I know that we did what we were supposed to do to get them home. I know that we made good choices and helped people. But no matter how much I know this, part of me feels badly for moving away from the tragedy instead of towards it. Part of me wonders if I could have done more. I guess this is a mild case of what they call "survivor's guilt". This all still seems surreal to me. I am shocked again every time I think about it. I wonder if that will ever go away. What happened to all those people we walked past? Did I brush shoulders with any victims? What about the woman we passed on our detour that asked for directions to the finish line, and I gave them to her? Is she okay? Did I send her right into harm's way? What if we hadn't gotten the alert that Lindy had passed the finish line? What if we had just made a few small choices differently? All the "what if"s could make a person crazy.

Now I return to the photo I took of the crowds as we neared the finish line:

Here is an image of the finish line that was supplied by a news site. I added my information to it:

I read a report that said the devices had nails and ball bearings inside to cause maximum damage. It makes me sick. I saw these very people running at the halfway point. I cheered for them by name. I was brought to tears by their tenacity. I saw people who loved having stewardship over their bodies. Who took care of themselves and found joy in running. I saw such beauty there; and even as I saw that beauty, another sought to destroy it. What kind of sick person does this? Who sees something so amazing, and seeks to crush it? To me, that is the definition of evil. God creates beauty, and Satan seeks to destroy it. I feel so angry. I feel saddened. I also feel the resilience of Boston. 

I want whoever did this to know that YOU DID NOT DESTROY THAT BEAUTY. It lives on in my mind and in my heart. It lives in the hearts of everyone who has ever cheered for a runner. It lives in the hearts of all the runners in Boston Marathons past. It lives in the hearts of all people who sent a loved one to the Boston Marathon, and all those who will run in marathons in other cities this weekend despite your evil machinations. It lives in the heart of every runner on the planet, be it the 5Ker or the marathoner. It lives in every country, in all the good people, in all those who have seen miracles. It lives in every child. You may have broken our bones, and you may have broken our hearts, but you did not break us. We outnumber you. You are fighting on the wrong side, and you will be brought down.

Boston lives. Boston breathes. Boston has not even begun to show you her power. It's your turn to START RUNNING.

http://www.colbertnation.com/full-episodes/tue-april-16-2013-caroline-kennedy

Destination Legislation

Over the past few days, I've watched the newsrooms and my social media feeds fill up with story after story and post after post of opinions about marriage equality. I have some very opinionated friends, who openly voice said opinions, and the cognitive dissonance with each new opinion is giving me one serious headache. Just so you have an idea of where I'm coming from, I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I believe that marriage should be between one man and one woman. I believe and know a lot of things because of my spiritual studies. I also believe I shouldn't force my beliefs on others, and that it's not my place to pass judgement on the beliefs of others; that belief comes directly from what I've learned at church.

While I am a believer in the sanctity of marriage, I also believe in a God who allows us to choose for ourselves. In fact, our agency is fundamental in His plan for us. In the pre-existence, where all of us existed as spirits before coming here to earth, our Heavenly Father presented a plan for us to obtain physical bodies and learn proper spiritual and physical stewardship, and that involved coming to earth with the freedom to make choices of our own and learn from those choices, whether they be right or wrong, and having a Savior and Redeemer who would help us return to our Father. There would be great risks, but also great rewards. Lucifer, or Satan, our spiritual brother (for God is the father of our spirits and his) presented another plan which took away all risk, but also took away all choice and all ability to learn. One-third (33%, people!) of our spiritual brothers and sisters wanted to follow Lucifer's plan, and were allowed to make the choice to follow him. The other two-thirds of us chose our Heavenly Father's plan. There was a great war, and who do you suppose won? Long story short, we're here, and we are all, in one way or another, trying to force others to make certain choices (myself included, I'm sure, though I try not to).

If I truly believe in a loving Heavenly Father who gave us everything we have, including a free and peaceful land and the freedom and ability to choose both then and now, how can I believe that every aspect of our lives should be controlled by legislation? I don't think it's the government's place to define or control marriage between human beings (within reason. Don't take this to mean that I think we should be marrying off twelve year olds or anything harmful or unhealthy, whether it be emotionally, physically, or otherwise). Maybe some people will see my thinking as flawed, and that's fine, but I just don't even think this decision should be up to the government. Marriage is often very closely tied with a person's spirituality and/or religion, and religion and government often do not mix well. One of the best things about living in this country is having the right to worship how, where, or what we may. If one church allows same-sex marriage, does that mean all churches have to? Just because someone else's definition of worship doesn't match up with mine, should I want it to be made illegal? Each side has such strong opinions about everything, but so many seem at odds with themselves.

Lawmakers want to reform healthcare, but they want to throw in other, unrelated legislation and make themselves exempt from the whole process.

Leftists are perfectly okay with murdering babies in utero, but they don't want people to have guns to protect themselves from criminals who will get guns no matter what the law is. That's why they're criminals: they're not afraid to do illegal things.

Right wings want to be able to keep their guns, but they think it's their business to define love. No one has ever been able to truly define love in words; love is an action. Love is a state of being. Love is different for everyone.

People want laws to control others, but they don't want to be controlled.

What are we trying to do to ourselves? I may not have all the answers, but I'm not convinced that passing more laws and handing down more Supreme Court decisions is really going to help.