I could feel the collective exhale when the announcement came at 9:00 PM last night. For five days, those of us who live in the metro Boston area have been held captive by grief, fear, and confusion. The events of this week and how we responded explains why I’m not giving up on humanity or moving any time soon.

The Boston Marathon is one of the purest and most welcoming athletic events in our country. Run every year since 1897—neither of the World Wars stopped it—the marathon winds from the small town of Hopkington into the heart of Boston. While the 30,000 plus runners make their way to the finish line, the Boston Athletic Association estimates that hundreds of thousands of spectators line the route cheering, offering kisses (no kidding), water, oranges, and encouragement. This single event somehow manages to express so much of who we are.

And it’s because of this that we all felt the shock waves of the blast. Eight year old Martin Richard could have been my son. Krystle Campbell and Lingzi Lu could have been my sisters. We all found ourselves along the barricade, near the finish line, waiting for a husband, or roommate, or father. We have all been there and will have to fight our way through doubt and fear to line the route for next year’s race.

This week, we met this vulnerability in the face of danger with courage and heroism. These characteristics were sown into our DNA. It was here, in this poorly laid out downtown area, with its barely navigable streets, where men fought for freedom from British rule. Where boys and farmers, metal smiths and academics stood shoulder to shoulder in defense of the liberty that meant more than their own life.

That same courage and selflessness was demonstrated again and again over the course of the past five days. John Tlumacki’s photo captures all of the tension just seconds after the blast. We will probably never have the opportunity to ask those uniformed officers and BAA officials what was going through their minds when the first bomb exploded. While I can most certainly say I would have headed in the opposite direction, after a slight hesitation, all of the officers in this photo, ran towards, not away from, the bomb. Other photos depict random individuals, seemingly unconcerned about their own safety, immediately offering what would be life-saving first aid to those most affected by the blast. Reports circulated of marathon runners who, after running 26 miles, continued to Mass General Hospital to donate blood to the 177 injured.

As the week went on, such acts continued. Despite the reality that MIT police officer was shot and killed Thursday night by the Chechnyan brothers, despite the fact that the two were throwing explosives at them, police officers surrounded the duo in Watertown, just outside Boston’s city limits. More than 200 shots were exchanged in an intense firefight. One officer was severely wounded. Rather than deter the police, special forces, and FBI, this seemed to galvanize them. They did not shrink back but rather pressed in.

And as they pressed in, we witnessed yet another characteristic of this region: compassion. On Friday morning, officials locked down the six communities which bordered Watertown. Neighbors called, texted, and emailed neighbors. By 10:00 AM, the streets were completely deserted. Friends from Watertown checked in on friends from Cambridge. Invitations were extended to employees caught downtown without any means of transportation home. Top restaurants made food for the first responders and members of the press. Posts appeared expressing hope that these two young men would not be be Muslim.

When the news broke that special forces had finally captured the wounded 19-year-old Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, a wave of relief rolled over the city. Streets immediately filled with residents who celebrated, danced, sang the National Anthem, and clapped for police and FBI agents.

Today, Saturday, less than 24 hours after this drama has come to a close, we have a decision to make. The events of this week strained all of us to the breaking point. They brought us to our knees in prayer. The courage and compassion that is so much a part of our region was revealed for the entire world to see.

Here’s my challenge. Can we choose to live in that space when there are no killers on the loose? Can we choose to extend ourselves to those around us whose needs might not be as evident as the blood drenched victims? Could we combine the fierce loyalty that we show to our sporting teams with our heroism and step in whenever we see a white man push a Palestinian woman in a hijab to the ground? Could the lessons we learned about ourselves this week inform how we live out the rest of our days? I think they could.

Boston, you have been a beacon to the world this week. Let’s stay the course.