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A Mother's Mind After the Boston Marathon Bombing

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Oh my God, what? A what? Where?

Checking Twitter.

Sick to my stomach.

Who do I know in Boston? I need to check in with them.

9/11 flashbacks.

I don't want to see the photos.

Okay, one photo.

Fuck, why did I look at that.

Have to call my friends. Have to call my family.

Those statistics are going to go up.

Where are my kids? I need to get home to them.

Wait, were there kids there? There must have been kids in the stands. Oh my God.

Can't go there.

I remember watching the Marathon out my window of my apartment senior year in college, cheering Rick Hoyt and his dad with the rest of BU as they passed through Kenmore Square.

I forgot this person who lives in Boston. And that one. And oh my God, that one -- isn't she a runner?

What can I do to help?

I'm liking 400 things on Facebook. Not sure who that's helping. No one. Someone. We're just connecting. Somehow. Connecting.

Still sick to my stomach.

Wait, the NYC marathon was cancelled this year. Could it be that...?

Can't go there. Won't go there. Lalalalala.

The problems at work? Not such big problems.

I need to get home.

The subway is extra terrifying right now.

There have been a lot of cops in New York subways the last two weeks. Did they know something? Is that possible?

I need to stop checking my phone. I need to get off social media.

An 8-year-old ... oh my God. No words. I'm so sick.

I need to stop imagining that it was us.

I need to stop imagining that we were there.

I'm not watching the news tonight.

I may never watch the news again.

Will every marathon now be a reminder of this one? Will every Patriots' Day in Boston now be a memorial?

What can I do to help?

Maybe it can wait until tomorrow.

Now I'm turning off my phone for real.

God the kids smell good.

What do I tell them?

I'm not telling them anything.

Let's make a playlist. A playlist for Thalia's Glee Club filled with all the songs I normally wince at. We'll dance. We'll learn the One Directions lyrics together. We'll eat lots of carbs.

It's a pasta night.

I could watch Sage's crazy dance to "Dynamite" all night.

Let's make brownies, brownies sound good.

Let's cuddle and hug and eat brownies and stay up too late watching a movie and they don't even have to know why.

Let's read one extra chapter tonight.

Let's spend way too long saying goodnight.

Let's hug without saying anything at all.

I'm not watching the news.

This post originally appeared on Mom-101.