Yesterday was my city’s darkest day. I was born in Boston at Brigham and Women’s Hospital, where my three children were also born, and where many victims of the bombing were taken yesterday. I grew up at the foot of Heartbreak Hill, and every year would walk down to Comm. Ave and cheer on the runners and hand them cups of water. A close friend finished the race a few minutes before the blasts, and the daughter of someone I’d just met last month was one of the three people murdered in the attack. The day before the Marathon we took two of our kids to the Patriots’ Day Parade in Lexington MA - the 300th anniversary of the town where the revolutionary war was begun. Today armed national guard personnel checked our bags as we got on the T. This is not how it should be.