It would be, I feel, almost inhuman not to devote a posting to the tragedy in Boston.  I don’t use the word tragedy very often.  I have been blessed with a good life, but I have seen tragedy up close:  my son’s diagnosis of a heart defect, my oldest child laying on a hospital bed with a spinal tap needle in her back, my youngest looking out from the locked door of a hospital. I know tragedy.  I am the queen of “get a real problem”.

But yesterday, Boston, and by proxy, all of us, experienced tragedy.  And, as is often the case, I don’t have anything insightful or helpful or deep to say about it.  I just have an overhanging sense of sorrow, of  disgust, of disbelief.


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