I have so much work to do every day to get back to my normal life that I can't afford to be angry, even at the bombers. I can't keep looking backward.
Even now, a year later, people ask me about the Wheelchair Photo: what do I think about it? Does it bother me? The honest answer: I don't think about it. I glanced at the photo once, about a week after the bombing. I knew immediately I never wanted to look at it again.
Hero.' I've always struggled with that word. I'm just a guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Sometimes I don't fully accept it. It's tough. I miss doing old things. I miss shooting hoops with my friends.
In my eyes, there's heroes I look up to. People who saved me - my caretakers, people at Boston Medical Center. My surgeon. The people that pulled me off that ground, who pulled me out. Those are my heroes. The police. The paramedics. Those are the true heroes.
Even in the ambulance ride I was trying to say something, trying to say, like, 'I knew who did it, I knew what went on.' And then I think they were kind of thrown back by that. They were like, 'What? You know what went on? You know what happened?' And I was like, 'Yeah, I saw the guy.'
