Today marks one year from the end of one of the most hellacious weeks I've ever encountered. Endless hours at work. Countless tear-filled nights of wondering why/how this could all happen. Wishing the job I love so much didn't put me in the center of it.
One year ago today, I was trapped in my home, alone, while outside police and federal agents were flocking my town's streets, searching for the alleged Marathon Bombers.
I remember sitting on my floor, more in the center of my house, for fear of a potential stray bullet. Staying up all night with my family on Skype just so I wouldn't be "alone." Looking outside to see the usually bustling street completely quiet and eerie, except for the cop cars coming by once in a while, and the helicopters always overhead.
The worst part was knowing how close I was to potential danger. Not knowing where the last suspect was, but knowing he was way too close for comfort. Streaming the news online and seeing just how close all the action was, how close my coworkers were to me, but I was left a prisoner in what should be the place I find the most comfort.
Then when we thought it was all over, he was found within walking distance to my home. Yelling, gunfire, dogs, flashing lights... the helicopters. Too much, too close to home.
I continue to work on getting back to normal. Obviously a little difficult in my career. No way to get away from the stories. The footage. Remembering that day and how it all began a week before. I still get tense when I hear a helicopter. When I hear any sort of bang. Let's just say last 4th of July was not as pleasant as it should have been.
Yet we continue. We push on.
Today my street was filled with joy. Cars coming and going. Kids training at the batting cages next door. Others enjoying an Easter Egg scavenger hunt around the block. With my windows open, I enjoyed the sights and sounds. The smell of the fresh air. Enjoyed being able to walk outside with no fear. Knowing that everything will be alright.
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