Three years ago in Boston

Peace vigil, Boston Common, the day after the Marathon bombings (April 2013; photo: DY)

Here in Boston, we are observing the third anniversary of the Boston Marathon Bombings. As recounted by the History Channel:

On April 15, 2013, two bombs went off near the finish line of the Boston Marathon, killing three spectators and wounding more than 260 other people. Four days later, after an intense manhunt that shut down the Boston area, police captured one of the bombing suspects, 19-year-old Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, whose older brother and fellow suspect, 26-year-old Tamerlan Tsarnaev, died following a shootout with law enforcement earlier that same day.

This was one of the saddest and most dramatic weeks in the city’s history.

Here’s what I wrote about the scene captured in the photo above for my Minding the Workplace professional blog, the day after the bombings:

Had you been transported to Boston’s busy Downtown Crossing area at lunchtime today, it may not have been evident that just the day before, at least three people died and over a hundred were injured (many severely) by two bombs that were detonated near the finish line of the Boston Marathon, a few short subway stops away.

You would’ve seen the usual scurrying about, with some folks carrying bags from quick shopping trips, and others lining up at one of the food carts for a bite to eat.

. . . Just another working day, yes?

Hardly. You can’t see what’s going through everyone’s minds, but mark my words, very few people were not in some way distracted, anxious, preoccupied, upset, angry, or grieving. I don’t think a lot of work got done today.

. . . Boston has been changed forever. . . Yesterday, this often insular, tribal city was forced to mature and identify with cities around the world in a terribly painful way.

But very early this evening, I found myself embracing a piece of the parochialism that at times I have struggled with so mightily. Walking through the Boston Common, I could see what appeared to be a peace vigil ahead of me and made out the sounds of a choir.

. . . (T)he choir was singing “Danny Boy,” and it sounded beautiful.