I can't stop thinking about Martin Richards, the 8 year old boy who died in the Boston Marathon blasts. My youngest is 8 years old.
I think of the boy's father, mother and sister. His mother and sister are in hospital.
His father Bill Richards made this statement, “My dear son Martin has died from injuries sustained in the attack on Boston. My wife and daughter are both recovering from serious injuries. We thank our family and friends, those we know and those we have never met, for their thoughts and prayers. I ask that you continue to pray for my family as we remember Martin.”
Every time I think about or see or hear a bit more about the Boston Marathon blasts, I think of Martin. I'm devastated because I have an 8 year old. An 8 year old who enjoys going to events and watching people from the sidelines.
I think about how that family must feel to know that Martin has been taken from them.
I know we live in a world where people do these things. Every day there's news from Iraq or Afghanistan or some other place in the world where there is conflict. Yet you never hear the story about 8 year olds and because I have an 8 year old and because we lived in Boston (my eldest was born there) and we think of Boston as a safe place to visit and we think of marathons as safe events to spectate at, that makes the horror feel real.
I run a website for parents. We usually post up cheerful blog posts or useful information that has a positive note.
There's nothing to be said about this except to mourn for Martin and all the other 8 year olds who die because idiots think that bombs will solve some political problem they face.
I will keep hugging my 8 year old tight whenever she passes and be thankful I have my 8 year old alive.