Just Be There For Each Other

Boston is my city. I’ve lived all my life within an easy half hour drive to the Hub. Except at rush hour, when it’s an easy two or three hour drive.  I have close family living in the city proper. All my life, going “into town” meant Boston. I still say “hahbah” for “harbor.”

I’ve spent the last thirteen years working on the ambulance in Boston’s northern suburbs. EMS being what it is, I have friends and co-workers and former partners working at every service and hospital inside of Route 128.

The events of April 15th hit a lot of people close to me very hard –excuse me –hahd, and I just want to say a few things.

As frustrating as it is, there’s a lot we can’t do right now, a lot we shouldn’t do right now, and only one thing we should.

We can’t change what happened. We can’t erase the fact that on a beautiful day, when the city was enjoying the annual celebration that is the marathon, bombs tore through the crowd, killing and maiming people who wanted nothing more than to share in the camaraderie of the event. There is no cause, no goal that can excuse that.

Most of us can’t do much right now to prepare for this kind of thing, or prevent the next time or punish those who carried this out. There are people working on it, and when they know more, we will be better able to act. As a paramedic, I’m sure our procedures will be updated, and when they are, I’ll make adjustments.

What we should not do is speculate. Let’s not scapegoat foreign terrorists or the militia movements or anyone else just yet. Better to be uncertain now and right tomorrow than certain and wrong today.

The one thing we can do, must do, is support and respect one another in our time of shared loss.  Don’t post graphic photos. Don’t belittle anybody’s urges to pray or hope or provide comfort, even if you disagree with their beliefs. Don’t call for revenge. In time, we can demand justice. Don’t utter the words “false flag” or “conspiracy”within striking distance of me.

Just be kind. Be a friend. Hug your kids and your family, buy your coworker a cup of coffee, let those close to you know that you care, because there may not be another chance.

And, Boston, remember: Don’t be a peckahhead.  Just be wicked pissah to each othah.

Dancing on Graves for Fun and Profit

Do not speak ill of the dead, we’re told.

Why not?

The dead are beyond the reach of my slings and arrows. More dangerous, to my mind is the whitewashing of misdeeds done by the recently deceased.

I will agree that Westboro Baptist style celebration at the death of young men and women taken too soon is offensive to the grieving family. It is insensitive and hateful.

But if a person dies in the fullness of time, and that person’s acts were harmful to many, I don’t see why a little fist pump is so bad a thing. If an old, miserable dick dies, I think it’s fine to be happy that the world is a bit less dickish.

Margaret Thatcher began her reign of evil by abolishing free milk for schoolchildren aged seven to eleven. Turning back Vietnamese refugees, because of “concerns” about the number of Asian immigrants, demolishing labor unions, privatizing services, making the first cuts to the NHS, and the utter tone deaf awfulness of her response to the crisis in Northern Ireland all show a callus disregard of basic human dignity and needs of anyone not wealthy and English.

I won’t shed a tear at the end of a life, when countless thousands of more innocent lives were destroyed or made harder by policies she championed.       

To show my UK friends that it’s not a matter of national identity, I assure everyone I’m shining my tap shoes for dancing on the graves of Donald Rumsfeld and Dick Cheney as well.

So I will happily accept criticism of my comments and attitude, while echoing the sentiments of Labor MP George Galloway who tweeted “Tramp the dirt down.”