Boston Strong Read online

  The bombing survivors had little use for flashy headlines or news organizations looking to get a jump on one another. They were merely trying to stay alive, or to cope with their lives that were now forever changed.

  Mery Daniel woke up in her hospital bed at Mass General on Wednesday. Her doctor entered her room and described to her all the things a team of surgeons had done to keep her heart beating.

  “Your heart stopped twice after you arrived,” the doctor informed her. “We had to massage your heart to save your life.”

  As a medical student, Mery tried to absorb and understand what the doctor was saying. She understood that a pancreatic laceration had left her with internal bleeding. She was confused, however, when she looked down at her legs. Her right leg was wrapped in bandages because doctors had cut away muscles and tendons that had been ripped apart by shrapnel. And her left leg — was gone. While she had been lying on Boylston Street and while she was being carried into Mass General, Mery had realized that — if she lived — she might lose a leg. But she had thought that the damage to her right leg was much more significant than the injuries sustained by her left. The doctor explained that the arteries and nerves in her left leg had been cut deeply and that the only way to save her life was to amputate. Mery was physically broken, but she did not cry.

  “I’m glad to be alive,” she says. “Losing the leg didn’t seem that significant to me.”

  Her husband and other family members visited her that day. Mery’s daughter, Ciarra, was kept at home for fear that the image of her mother lying in a hospital bed would frighten the little girl. Yet, Mery knew she was fortunate for two big reasons. Once again, she thought about her decision not to take Ciarra to the marathon. It was a decision that quite possibly saved her little girl’s life. Mery also knew that she would be returning to her daughter — that Ciarra would not have to grow up without her mother. Mery would be there for her. She would be able to dress Ciarra for her first school dance. She would be there when Ciarra got her driver’s license. She would be able to hug her daughter on her graduation and wedding days. Mery closed her eyes and thought about this, about returning home to her child. This thought would feed her determination in the days and weeks to come.

  Michelle L’Heureux went back in for a second surgery on Wednesday. She went into the operating room around 7:30 a.m. and was there for more than eight long hours. During the first surgery, doctors stabilized and cleaned her wounds and implanted small vacuum-like devices in her arm and leg to stave off infections. The second surgery was performed to clean up the wounds even more and to partially close the huge gash on her arm.

  Like Jane Richard, Michelle was never left alone. Because she was the daughter of a Maine firefighter, a station house in Boston — Engine 7, on Columbus Avenue — had adopted her as its own. Each day, a firefighter was assigned to Michelle’s bedside — to bring her gifts and to get her anything she needed. The firefighters were also there for Michelle’s dad, allowing him to park his truck at the station and giving him a ride to the hospital each day to visit his daughter.

  Heather Abbott was also going in for a second surgery so doctors could determine if her foot could be saved. She was faced with several difficult decisions and an agonizing recovery ahead. Heather had just learned from her doctor that, because her foot was in such poor condition, the chances of her returning to normal were virtually zero.

  “If you keep the foot, you might never be able to walk on it again,” her doctor told her gently.

  Even with the effort of the world’s best surgeons, her foot would be fixed permanently in a flexed position and would remain severely mangled. Also, if she kept the foot, her left leg would most likely be shorter than her right, giving her a permanent limp.

  By contrast, she was told, a prosthetic leg would improve her chances of resuming a normal life. Advances in prosthetic technology would give Heather a better shot at getting back to walking, paddleboarding, even running — if she opted for a prosthetic leg rather than retaining her mangled limb. The doctors brought in runners and athletes who had suffered horrible lower leg injuries and had had to make similar decisions to amputate. Some told her they wasted years of their life by refusing to amputate. Others told her horror stories of repeated surgeries that were all for naught.

  All four of her surgeons recommended amputation.

  Heather looked at the situation very logically and matter-of-factly.

  This is what it is and I can’t change it, she told herself.

  “I don’t really feel like I have a decision to make,” she told her doctors. “To me, the decision seems very clear.”

  Heather Abbott decided to go with the doctors’ recommendations and have her injured lower leg removed. A surgery was scheduled for that Monday — exactly one week after the bombings. She didn’t watch any news reports on the attacks and didn’t go to any of the hospital’s support groups set up for victims and survivors. Being a single, independent woman, she decided to handle the situation the way she handles everything in her life: on her own.

  “She’s my hero,” her father told the Associated Press. “She’s stronger than I am. I’m constantly having meltdowns, and she knows what has to be done, and she’s right there with it.”

  MIT Police Officer Sean Collier was back on normal duty on Wednesday night. He was on foot patrol on campus, and despite the tension gripping the city — he was bored. Nothing was happening on campus, and students were staying inside or close to home. Sean’s mother called his cell phone and they spoke briefly. She never mentioned the bombing, as she figured the culprits were long gone by now. They chatted briefly about their day, and Sean told her that he had to get back to work.

  “Be careful and I love you.”

  “Back at you,” Sean replied.

  At 5:04 p.m. on Wednesday, Khairullozhon Matanov, the Quincy cabbie who had befriended the Tsarnaev brothers, tried to reach Dzhokhar on his cell phone. There was no answer. Next, he called Tamerlan but did not connect. He made several more calls to the brothers before finally getting Tamerlan on the line. The two agreed to meet at Tsarnaev’s apartment in Cambridge later that night.

  [16]

  THE FLAME IS KINDLED

  Air Force One touched down at Logan Airport early Thursday morning. Governor Patrick and his wife, Diane, met President Obama and the First Lady on the tarmac. The two old friends shook hands and embraced.

  “You know, I’ve done too many of these,” President Obama said somberly.

  Patrick and his wife rode with the first couple from the airport to the Cathedral of the Holy Cross, where they were both scheduled to speak at the interfaith healing service.

  “We were just in Newtown, and now this,” Michelle Obama observed as she stared out the window of the presidential motorcade.

  The governor had been pushing for a healing service. Someone had suggested Trinity Church in Copley Square, but that remained essentially a crime scene and was too close of a reminder of what had happened. Instead, Patrick and others chose the Cathedral of the Holy Cross on nearby Washington Street. Begun in 1866 and dedicated in 1975, the Cathedral was built in classic Gothic Revival style and towers 120 feet high. It has always been a place for healing. During his first visit to the United States in 1979, Pope John Paul II used the cathedral for a prayer service with two thousand priests. More than a decade earlier, in early 1964 — just months after the assassination of President John F. Kennedy — Richard Cardinal Cushing celebrated a requiem in the late leader’s honor that was broadcast nationwide. Today’s service would also be seen across the United States — and across the globe.

  The governor, like Commissioner Davis and others, was exhausted. He had barely slept since Monday, and his adrenalin was finally getting low. He had taken a few catnaps on the couch in his office, but they were always interrupted by news about the investigation or about the victims. He thought about what New York City mayor Rudy Giuliani had endured in the days following 9/11. Giuliani had pushed through
his fatigue in order to provide leadership for his people, and Patrick would do the same. He met with first responders, with survivors, and with families of the victims, including the Richard family.

  A well-known Democratic activist, Bill Richard, along with his wife, had worked on Patrick’s 2005 campaign. “We have a photo on our mantle of Martin, at two years old, holding a Deval Patrick sign,” Denise Richard told Patrick during his visit to the hospital. Tears welled up in the governor’s eyes. They welled up again when he paid a short visit to Jane Richard’s hospital room and saw the little girl covered by bandages and tubes.

  “Out of all the politicians who visited, Deval Patrick made the biggest impact on Bill and Denise,” Larry Marchese recalls. “He was so human, and he just connected with them as others could not.”

  The governor had to split his attention and efforts between providing emotional support to millions of Massachusetts residents, and tracking down those responsible. The killers are still out there, he reminded himself.

  How do you strike a balance between comfort and getting to the other side? he asked himself time and again.

  Patrick received phone calls from his predecessors, former governors Mitt Romney and Bill Weld, both Republicans. Romney and Weld offered their counsel and assistance. The former governors had weathered their share of crises as the state’s chief executive, but neither could fully grasp what Deval Patrick was facing now.

  Security was airtight along the perimeter surrounding the Cathedral of the Holy Cross. Members of the US Secret Service joined other federal agents, state troopers, and Boston police in a sweep of the area. Marathon survivors and families of the victims were invited to attend, as were first responders and public officials. The service was also open to the public on a first-come, first-served basis. All had to pass through steely-eyed security screeners who were on the lookout for bags, sharp objects, or liquids that could pose a threat.

  President Obama entered the cathedral hand in hand with the first lady. They were followed by Governor Patrick and his wife, Diane, under a rousing chorus of “Amazing Grace.” After everyone was seated, Reverend Liz Walker, an iconic former Boston TV news anchor turned minister, stood tall at the podium and pondered two questions.

  “How can a good God allow bad things to happen? Where was God when evil slithered in and planted the bombs that exploded our innocence?”

  Walker told those gathered inside the cathedral and those watching from across the country on live television that God is “here in this sanctuary and beyond.” She called Boston a “city that has always faced the darkness head on.”

  Walker was right. Boston is a city that has successfully repelled invaders for centuries. The fighting spirit is ingrained in its people. Testimonials of this fighting spirit stand like sentinels across the city, from the towering monument at Dorchester Heights where 1,200 of our forefathers watched the mighty Royal Navy sail away in 1776 after an unsuccessful siege on Boston, to the inspiring memorial on Boston Common to the 54th Massachusetts Glory Regiment that stood tall during the Battle of Boykin’s Mill in the Civil War. Studying the crowd, Reverend Walker could see that the fighting spirit of those brave men had been passed down to the citizens of Boston today.

  That spirit was about to be exemplified by the actions of the city’s longest-serving mayor. Tom Menino had been escorted into the cathedral in his wheelchair. On this day, like all others, he had refused to take any pain medication.

  “Please stay in your wheelchair,” his handlers had urged him.

  But the mayor had made up his mind long before that. He had visited with many of the survivors and families of victims in the preceding days. Menino was moved and inspired by their collective resilience. The victims were his neighbors, his friends.

  “Papa, I know that little boy,” Menino’s granddaughter had told him about Martin Richard.

  “These people had so much courage,” Menino recalls. “When it came time to deliver my remarks, how could I not stand?”

  The mayor was wheeled to the podium. The congregation remained silent. Menino then lifted himself up and stood, to the amazement of the crowd.

  “We are one Boston. No adversity, no challenge, nothing can tear down this city and the resilience and the heart of this city and its people,” Menino said, his voice breaking. “We love the fathers and the brothers who took shirts off their backs to stop the bleeding, the mothers and the sisters who cared for the injured.”

  The mayor praised police and firefighters, doctors and nurses, business owners and ordinary Bostonians who — to his mind — had all performed miracles, working tirelessly for those in need. “This was the strength of our city at work … nothing can defeat the heart of the city, nothing can take us down.”

  Governor Patrick, an accomplished orator whose eloquence rivals President Obama, was equally inspiring.

  “How very strange that the cowardice unleashed on us should come on Marathon day, on Patriots’ Day, a day that marks both the unofficial end of our long winter hibernation and the first battle of the American Revolution,” he said. “Massachusetts invented America…. An attack on a civic ritual like the Marathon, especially on Patriots’ Day, is an attack on those values. And just as we cannot permit darkness and hate to triumph over our spiritual faith, so we must not permit darkness and hate to triumph over our civic faith. That cannot happen. And it will not.

  “We will recover and repair. We will grieve our losses and heal. We will rise, and we will endure,” he said.

  Patrick introduced his longtime friend Obama. The two men shook hands and embraced in the pulpit. Both wore solemn — almost defiant — looks upon their faces.

  “Boston is the perfect state of grace,” the president said, citing a poem written long ago by E. B. White, “… and so we come together today to reclaim that state of grace, to reaffirm that the spirit of this city is undaunted and that the spirit of this country shall remain undimmed.”

  Boston Police officer and first responder Javier Pagan sat directly behind First Lady Michelle Obama during the service. The cathedral is just across the street from the District 4 police station on Harrison Avenue where he works every day. He, too, had barely slept since Monday. On Tuesday, he was back up and out of the house early and was assigned to a traffic post at the corner of Massachusetts Avenue and Albany Street at 6 a.m. Later that day, he and other cops were ordered to meet with a department stress unit that included New York City police officers who had worked on 9/11.

  Javier knew he was traumatized by what he had seen and also that he wasn’t one of those cops or firefighters to keep it all bottled up inside. He went in and talked privately with a therapist.

  She told him, “There’s people that are going to accept that this happened and it’s tragic and it gets filed away in the back of their head and they function. There are some people who can still function but are going to constantly be reminded. And there are some people who can’t function and they’re going to commit suicide or leave the job.”

  Javier wasn’t sure which category he fit into, but was pretty sure it wasn’t the third one. At least that’s what he hoped.

  The picture from Sports Illustrated showing Pagan in action went viral. Soon, he was getting all sorts of calls from media across the globe. CNN anchor Anderson Cooper tracked down one of Javier’s sisters.

  “It was such a shock to me. I just go to work and do my job. I don’t do this to get accolades,” he said. “I get paid to do a job and I do it. If I get credit for it, that’s fine. If I don’t, I don’t. That’s fine.”

  There was also some subtle resentment behind the scenes from cops who maybe did more at the scene than Javier or perhaps had a larger role in the investigation. Javier became news because he was in the Sports Illustrated picture, and also because he was gay.

  Javier brushed aside the backbiting. “Policing is very cliquey, “ he says. “But I’m not in high school. I had friends when I got this job.”

  Javier Pagan drew streng
th from the interfaith service, from the words by Mayor Menino, Governor Patrick, President Obama, and others — and he was also struck by how good the First Lady’s hair looked. He raves to his friends about it to this day. As he left the church, regular folks walked up to him, shook his hand, patted him on the back, and thanked him.

  Following the service, President Obama met with race volunteers at nearby Cathedral High School and praised them for their selflessness. He then visited with bombing victims and caregivers at Mass General Hospital, while Michelle Obama met with patients at Children’s Hospital and Brigham and Women’s. During his visit to Mass General, the president met with Mery Daniel. Mery remembers shaking hands with the commander in chief — but not much else, as the pain medication was wearing heavy on her that day.

  The president and the governor also visited Krystle Campbell’s friend Karen Rand in the hospital. Months before the bombings, Deval Patrick had lunch at the Summer Shack and had met Karen then. The governor didn’t recall the meeting but was reminded of it during the visit.

  When Patrick and Obama entered her room, Rand was groggy from medication and surgery, but her boyfriend, Kevin McWatters, recounted to Patrick the tale of their Summer Shack meeting. They took pictures, and Rand told Patrick and Obama that she would be in Chicago in June.

  Two months later, Patrick returned to Chicago — his hometown — for a ceremony re-naming a street in his honor in his old South Side neighborhood. Patrick stood that day at the building where he grew up, surrounded by press taking pictures as the street sign was unveiled. As he walked from the site, a couple approached him.

  It was Karen Rand and Kevin McWatters. The two were in town on vacation, and Karen had thrown out the first pitch at a White Sox game with President Obama. The couple had read in the local paper that Patrick would be in Chicago that same weekend, so they made the time to go to the event to say hello to the governor again.