Trying to make sense

A few thoughts as I still try and move on from one of the toughest weeks on the heart and the soul.

(Fred Somers photo)

I’m not sure why, but for some strange reason, I can remember the name Lenny Skutnick without hesitation.  I was in the third grade when an airplane, taking off in Washington, D.C., crashed immediately into an icy Potomac River.  A rescue helicopter was struggling to connect a life raft to a frostbitten woman from the frigid waters as she was unquestionably too cold to grasp the cable. 

A passerby observing the daring rescue that was going no where, understood that it was a race against the clock in terms of survival. Without hesitation, he did what he thought he should do:  he dove into the water.  The first blast of the icy water must have felt like thousands of needles pinching the skin, but I am sure the pure adrenaline was what drove this hero. 

He almost came out of the corner of the tv news broadcast.  But there he was, swimming some 50 yards through rippling waves from the helicopter overhead, the gasoline and oil pooling on the surface, and of course, the blocks of ice that broke apart where the airliner when down.  But there he was, reaching the woman just in time to get her hooked onto the cable and saved her life.  Lenny Skutnick: a name I’ll always remember.  

It was a tragedy that gripped the nation, including me. And there’s been others. I can remember being touched by the Oklahoma City bombing that claimed the lives of so many, including young children. I remember the feeling I had visiting the memorial site a few years following while traveling with our school’s basketball team.  The chill of seeing an erected statue of Jesus Christ overlooking the site with the words “… and Jesus wept” scrawled underneath.

I remember the feeling of how time seemed to come to a halt with the 9/11 attacks on the United States.  The images were just too horrific and sad to even look at. 

Senseless attacks and loss of life in Aurora, Colorado and Sandy Hook, Conn. have hit me just as hard a decade later. And there have been others. Important moments I certainly don’t want to diminish. But now that I am a parent, the attack at Sandy Hook Elementary in Newtown, Conn. last December ripped my heart out.

As the father of a beautiful boy, I struggled to come to grips to what had happened, and still do. 

Now, with spring upon us, the hope for renewal, for warmth and beauty after the cold, gray winter, the tragic events of the Boston Marathon brought me right back to that deep, dark struggle internally to find answers once again.

Innocent lives changed forever. More than 100 injured, many critically, and the lives of three spectators and one law enforcement officer taken from us.  

The bravery of the first responders helps me attempt to heal the very deep injury to my soul and faith. These men and women ran towards danger while others’ instincts were, understandably, to run away.  They ran to help those in need, not knowing if more attacks were in front of them.  Just like Lenny. They saved lives and I salute each and every one of them. 

Though as I try to understand and move on, I am left with the hopeless, empty feeling of sadness for the loss of 8-year-old Martin Richard. The images of this beautiful boy, holding a sign for peace, followed by one showing pure enjoyment of being at a Bruins game, being a regular, happy little boy, just tears me apart.

I know time will heal, but I have a feeling that I'll alway remember Martin Richard. And I’ll remember his simple message to the world:

“Stop hurting people.  Peace.”