Tsarnaev Sentencing
I was close to the finish line that day in 2013, yet far enough away that the only injuries I sustained were invisible; they were the emotional scars that come with knowing that your city, like every other city in the world today, was no longer safe from the threat of terrorism, and that your town, your people, and your traditions had become targets of evil.
On Monday, we ran. We ran in defiance of the evil and the hate in the world and in celebration of the power of the human spirit to overcome. We ran through cold and wet, through the feelings of exhaustion and bitterness and fear. We limped our way to the finish line, leaned on the shoulders of others for support, and chattered our teeth as we tried to warm-up from the bone-chilling cold. As I looked at the exhausted, Mylar blanket-laden bodies and awed over the victorious take-back-the-marathon vibes I felt, I could also feel the tug of unfinished business calling on our city. We still had a killer amongst us.
This juxtaposition of celebratory Marathon Monday followed by the austere sentencing trial of the man responsible for trying to destroy that special day struck me. So, after being in town for the marathon on Monday, I decided to attend a day of the Tsarnaev sentencing. Why, exactly, I can’t tell you. It was a mix of wanting to view history and wanting to make sense of it all. Sometimes, after a horrific event, there can be a pinch-me-this-isn’t-didn’t-really-hapen sensation that runs through your brain and you feel the need to revisit the tragedy to confirm that yes, in fact, it happened and was even worse than you remembered.
Dzhokhar Tsarnaev walked through the courtroom a little before 10 a.m. I was prepared for any number of visceral reactions my body might have in response to this man, but was instead surprised to find that my body reacted little. On a basic level, I knew that there was the man I had seen on video walking through the crowd in a white hat and casually dropping a backpack with the ingredients for disaster inside. That’s him. That’s the evil that you hate, I told myself.
Our first two witnesses shared their memories of the day and of the split-second that changed their lives forever. Prosecutors had them describe the litany of medical procedures they’ve endured, and emphasized that for these people, it’s not over. It will never be over. Marc Fucarile runs the risk of having his lungs collapse if the shrapnel trapped in his left artery dislodges. He’s had one leg amputated (3 separate surgeries) and still runs the risk of having his other leg amputated. Heather Abbott was handing her i.d. to a doorman at The Forum when she was blasted through the restaurant’s doors. She was told she’d never run again.
Trauma surgeon Dr. David King described the triage unit at MGH the day of the bombing and the profound effects of the surgical procedures endured by the victims. Dr. King also explained that “with an extraordinary degree of medical certainty,” he could confirm that Martin Richard, the 8 year old killed at the marathon, did not die instantly. FBI forensic photographer Michelle Gamble reiterated the extent of the injuries suffered by Martin Richard by reconstructing a to-scale photograph of the grate where he was standing and demonstrating that the bomb detonated just 3 1/2 from the little boy’s body.
The day culminated in testimony by Steve Woolfenden. Woolfenden described a morning of getting up with his 3 year old son and preparing to go see mommy cross the finish line. Shortly after arriving at Boylston Street, Woolfenden awoke to himself lying on the sidewalk, holding on to the stroller, and looking at his blown-off left leg beside him. He poignantly described the utter panic and confusion he experienced, handing his son off to a complete stranger and asking for them to get him help. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see my son again,” he stated. In the midst of the chaos, Woolfenden witnessed the pain and suffering of a fellow parent, sitting right next to him and holding her dying son, pleading “please.” That parent was Denise Richard.
One of the most powerful moments of the day was when prosecutors flipped through photos of all of the marathon victims and asked Heather Abbott to identify everyone. Heather went through and named these people, their spouses, and their children, all sharing the common experience of tragedy and forging a bond as a result. And so, we run. As a community. As a family. As a collection of human beings that want to believe in the power of good over bad. We shall overcome.