Boston is Forever

I took KZ to the extremely crowded John Jay Park after school at 3:00 pm on Monday, April 15.  At 3:14 pm, my iPhone started buzzing with text messages. 

- R u ok?
- Where r u?
- R u in Boston or NYC?

At first, I was touched that so many of my friends thought that I was still fast enough to qualify for the Boston Marathon.  I qualified for it four times, and ran it three.  Each time was one of the best days of my life next to KZ's birth and my wedding to Jeremy. 

- Did u hear about the bombs/gas explosions at the finish line?
- Photos of injured & bloody sidewalk online.  No sure facts.

The only sure thing I knew at that point was that I had to get KZ out of a crowded park in New York City.  My second thought was the safety of all my friends running.

KZ didn't want to leave the park.

She wanted more time to play.  She wanted ice cream.  She wanted to walk home, not run.  I pulled her by the hand down York Avenue as fast as I could towards our apartment. 

"Mommy's friends may be hurt.  We have to go home to see if they are ok."

No one else on the street seemed upset.  I was trembling so hard I could hardly stay upright.  What was going on?  Bombs, or a gas explosion, at the finish?  I was trying to do the math.  When exactly would my friends have started the race?  What wave where they in? What time did the explosions happen?  What about all my friends who live in Boston and may have been cheering at the finish?  I just needed to get home and turn on the TV.

"Can I watch PBS," KZ asked as we walked in the door.
"Um, no.  Play on the computer."

I knew that would keep her occupied as I watched the TV.

The headline banner on ABC read, "Terror at the Boston Marathon".

Terror at the Boston Marathon ... These were not words that went together.  Boston Marathon and "qualifier", or "winners", or "finishers", but not "terror", or later "victims". 

Boston is the Olympics for the common person.  This is the race that every runner dreams of and for which every person in Boston comes out to cheer.  This was MY marathon.  My friends were there running with their small children cheering them on.  I sat there frozen watching the news.  No one knew anything at that point except that there were two confirmed dead and multiple serious injuries.  I did everything I could not to cry in front of KZ.  She's four.  She's happy.  She was cheering for me the day before as I ran a very crowded half marathon in Central Park.  How could something like this be happening? 

Later, that night, after she went to bed, I lost it.  I sat in the floor of my kitchen sobbing ... for the little children who were dead or forever maimed, for the families, literally blown apart, for the lost of innocence of running freely.  I was crying for how close some of my friends came to the explosions.  Two were in the finish line and saw it happen.  One past the explosions just after they happened and saw everything.  She then had to go home and explain as best she could to her eight year old son. 

As I sat there on the kitchen floor, I felt a soft little hand on my shoulder. 

"Mommy, I just want you to be happy." 

I hugged and kissed her, dried my tears, and walked her back to bed. 

I first ran Boston in 1999.  That year, the theme was Boston is Forever.  The world may have changed drastically since then, but Boston still is Forever.

The Gaynor School

     "How are you?"  asked Juliana, the Associate Director of Admissions at the Gaynor School.
     "Fine thank you.  And you?"  I responded.
     "Did you have a nice weekend?" She asked.
     "So far," I said.
     It was Monday morning and we were on the phone.  This woman was not my best friend.  She wasn't even my friend.  She didn't care about my weekend no more than I cared about hers.  The elephant on the phone was what she was going to tell me concerning KZ's application and play date interview. 
     KZ had her play date at the Gaynor School on the previous Thursday morning.  As she met with the director of the Early Education Center and one of the co-founders of the fifty year old school, and one other little girl, I was given a tour.  It was one of the most perfect schools I had seen, and I felt as if I had seen every school in New York City by that point.  The Gaynor School had just opened a new 50,000 square-foot building, in addition to the older building built in 2006 with 37,000 square-feet, where the Early Childhood Center would be located.  The stairs were designed especially for smaller children.  The floors were a special sound absorbing material.  The indoor lighting coupled with the natural lighting was soft and warm.  Each room had a special surround sound speaker system, so if the teacher turned her back to write on the smart board, the children would still hear a crisp clear voice.  The class size was ten children to two teachers who had masters in special education.  Occupational therapy, speech therapy, reading specialists, and math specials worked with children throughout the day so that when the school days was done, the kids could go home and play like everyone else.  The school was a special education school for average to above average children with speech delays.  This school was heaven ... heaven with a line a mile long of little children looking for a spot.  Specifically, approximately 500 children for 7 spots.  Would KZ get in?  It was perfect for her, but that didn't mean anything. 
     It has been a year-long journey to this school.  A year ago, we didn't even know that KZ was deaf.  Thirteen private school rejections later, we were terrified that KZ was going to get lost in the public school system.  Would she have honestly been lost?  I didn't know.  I did know that I would have worked day and night to get her the best services possible within and outside of the Department of Education's system. 
     "I hope the news I have to tell you will be good news for you," said Juliana.  "We would like to offer KZ a spot in our 2013-2014 year."
     "Yes, yes, oh definitely yes,"  I started to cry.
     "If you want to take some time and talk to your husband about it,"
     "No, really.  We've talked.  We'll take it.  This has been such a long process, but we truly feel that KZ will be in the best possible place at Gaynor.  Thank you."
     I hung up the phone crying tears of joy for the end of a very long journey into the school system ...  a school system journey which was just beginning.