A blast transfigured April 15 from the last day Americans have to pay their taxes to a day when heroism and cold-grit courage are remembered. At 2:49 p.m. the whole world exploded—or so it seemed for the marathoners who were steps away from crossing a finish line they had trained hard to earn, to throw their sweaty and fatigued arms around their loved ones to rejoice in a personal victory.
The meltdown I had in the Chick-fil-A parking lot was hotter than the spicy chicken sandwich I’d driven there to order. The day was hot, 98 degrees, and I was a hot mess. With my forehead on the steering wheel, I gasped for air and cried in loud, serrated sobs to my friend. With all the windows down and the noon-time drive-through crowd stacking up, I poured out to her all that had sparked a full-blown panic attack.