Boston

When the news first hit about the explosions in Boston, Greg called me at work.

He asked if I had heard.  I told him that I had.  In an effort to lighten the conversation a bit, I said:

It's a good thing I didn't go run it this year.

Greg didn't miss a beat in his reply:

Nah, you would have been fine.  The blasts were at the finish line.


Later, when I came home from work, Greg and I shut ourselves in the computer room and read the news together.  We scrolled through extremely graphic pictures and watched video of the explosions.  With tears streaming down my face we gazed in horror at photos of people in wheelchairs, with freshly amputated limbs and deep in shock. 

Of course our thoughts and prayer are with the families of those who were killed, but Greg and I have spend most of the evening talking about the people who suddenly find themselves amputees this evening. 

Our hearts go out to them.

This life is strewn with trials to build our character, give us humility, and most of all, fill us with compassion.  The greatest form of compassion is empathy.  It's defined as the capacity to recognize emotions that are being experienced by another.  Knowing what is to come in the next few months of recovery for these people fills me with a sinking feeling of dread....and also silent and steady flow of hope.

The road of amputation recovery is a frustrating one.  However, many have gone down it, most successfully.  They will learn to live with prosthetic limbs and carry on, I have no doubt.  The senseless part of it, the nauseating horror of it is not that they will be amputees, it's the way it happened.

When Greg's legs were amputated, it was at the end of a long road.  For years we knew those surgeries would one day be inevitable.  In a way, it was a relief that Greg's chronic foot issues would be over.  It was almost a way out.  We prepared as best we could, he received blessings, we met with educators, and we researched surgeons and prosthetists.  We prayed together in the hospital parking lot before we checked in.  We were afraid, most definitely.  However we had something huge on our side.  Control.  The decision to have the amputation surgery was controlled.  Who would perform it, where and when were controlled.  Greg's vital signs and consciousness was controlled by a trained anesthetist.  The surgeons decisions and precise cuts were performed in a calm, sterile operating room.  His pain medication was meticulously measured and administered.  Because his surgeons has time and healthy tissue to work with, Greg would keep his knee joints.  We all made the decisions together and we were a team and in control.

I cannot imagine, although we have talked about it for hours now, lying on the cold ground surrounded in terror and blood.  Realizing for the first time that your body is no longer whole.  The utter confusion that must cause in a mind slipping into shock.  Everything around you being completely and totally out of control.  No sterile environment.  No time to emotionally and mentally prepare.  The terror of it all is mind boggling.  Those victims and their families must feel so much fear tonight.  Not knowing with the road ahead will be like.  Wondering about quality of life and mourning the hopes and dreams that must now seem out of reach.  It will be a long and hard road, but they will travel it.  In the end there is no other choice.  We simply do what we have to do.  Everything will work out in the end.  There is happiness and joy, ability and strength that will be given to them along with their prosthetic limbs.  There is definitely life after amputation.  There is hope.

Thinking about the senselessness of their injuries and the uncontrolled nightmare in which they were inflicted has made Greg and I extra thoughtful tonight.  Our hearts break for them.  At the same time, I am also filled with gratitude with the knowledge that nothing truly happens on this Earth that is completely out of control.  To consider the possibility that our Heavenly Father and his multitude of angels were not running that course in Boston today is inconceivable.  He was there.  He is in control of our lives.  In creating us, he mapped our course in this life.  To think that anyone was alone on that street today is simply wrong.  Whether our trials are inflicted in measured ways or traumatic ways, it doesn't matter.  Our Heavenly Father loves us, is concerned about us, and is always close to us.  I know this not because someone said it over a pulpit 10 days ago, I know it because I have felt it.  In the deepest darkest holes of despair He is there, and in complete and total control.