By Barb Arland-Fye
Writing on deadline, I learned about the deadly explosions at the Boston Marathon on April 15 during a phone call from a colleague whose friend was participating in the road race. My colleague and I are longtime runners, although I’ve had to taper off because of lower back challenges. I felt a sense of loss after the phone call, even though I have no personal connection with this year’s Boston Marathon runners and families.
After I arrived home from work, my 18-year-old son Patrick and I talked about the tragedy. Earlier in the evening he had been with his older brother Colin at the home of their music teacher, Don Estes. As Patrick waited for Colin to finish his piano lesson, Don’s wife Marion entered the music studio to tell her husband about the unfolding horror in Boston.
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