“Have you seen Brian?” Her voice cracked. The question was directed at me, but the asker’s eyes were frantically searching around with the unimaginable concern God has only given mothers. She had cuts on her forehead; blood was running down to her neck. I couldn’t ask her about Brian’s descriptions at that point, but I gathered from her age that he wasn’t too young. I began looking around and rubbed her shoulder, telling her the police were here and that it was going to be alright. It was a chaotic scene, people were fleeing… police were trying to calm people. Eventually, one of them turned our way and implored us to get out of here, that it was not safe, that a third bomb could explode.
I was there at the finish line on that fatefully tragic day with the intention of covering the amazing organization of volunteers, family, friends, and runners for my school’s newscast.