At Fenway Park, a sense of closure was felt, but the city will never forget.
BOSTON - At some point, the need for poignant demonstrations give way to the time for private memories and reflection.
For Boston, that time came Monday. A hugely successful Marathon was run, and the traditional Patriots Day game was played at Fenway Park.
Normalcy returned to the old yard at precisely 12:02 Monday morning. Shelled by the Baltimore Orioles, Clay Buchholz was booed off the mound in the third inning.
It was an early start and early finish for Buchholz on a day that represented a poignant sense of closure for his city.
Patriots Day has always been a different day on the Red Sox calendar. This day was more different than most, but not as different as one might have expected.
A marathon went on outside, and most of the day's poignancy could be found there. That mood found its way into Fenway when it was announced that an American, Meb Keflezighi, had won the race.
The roar was long and loud and patriotic for a man whose name could not be pronounced by many of those who were cheering. But he was one of ours, and especially on this day, that carried deep meaning.
The Red Sox meanwhile rubbed their eyes after finishing a Sunday night game barely 12 hours earlier. They took the field and, soon found themselves trailing 6-0.
"I'm not saying we'll go out with bells on, but we'll be there. The game must go on,'' manager John Farrell said beforehand.
The game goes on. Society goes on. This Patriots Day was a cultural milepost, a last and most important day to turn the page.
From a baseball sense, the Red Sox are looking forward to normalcy. Their first three weeks have been a constant stream of special events, from Opening Day ceremonies and ring presentations to a White House visit to odd starting times and salutes to Marathon victims and heroes.
"More than any other sport, baseball is a game of routine,'' said Farrell, who knows that starting on Tuesday, the normalcy of 7:10 starts will return.
But he and his team have embraced the significance of what April has been all about. This is especially true with the Marathon and memories that are forever etched in the mind of those who experienced April 15, 2013 in Boston.
And yet - dare we say? - Monday had the feeling of a normal Fenway Park day. The big pregame ceremony had been Sunday night.
Farrell's pregame press conference Monday was mostly about Brock Holt in the leadoff spot. Not a single Marathon-related question was asked, because really, what was left to ask?
The walk to the park was still instructive. It told a story of a city still grappling with the balance between normalcy and the recognition of its recent history.
At Audubon Circle, where Boston meets Brookline, a street corner was being closed off. "Out! Out!'' a police officer ordered a handful of leisurely passersby, in what seemed like an unnecessarily authoritative tone.
For the most part, the gaggle of police officers on the street went out of their way to be friendly and approachable. They petted dogs and chatted with citizens, the importance of their presence noticeable only by their sheer numbers.
There are those who have begun suggesting, as diplomatically and respectfully as possible, that the post-Marathon reaction - punctuated by massive coverage in social and traditional media - has become drawn out beyond its appropriate shelf life.
This is an understandable response from people who feel the best tribute to the victims, and the best way to respond to terrorism, is a steadfast and stoic return to normalcy. But Boston owed itself a year.
Its response spoke of triumph, an increasing rarity in a complex age where the bad guys and often either not caught or not identified. The death of Osama bin Laden took years and offered only partial closure to the horror of Sept. 11, 2001.
Boston's response was swift and successful. Absorbing its meaning validated all the tributes and coverage.
"We will always remember what happened, but after today, I guess it will be more normal again,'' said a 20ish woman who stood along the route, too shy to give her name.
Inside Fenway Park, life seemed almost normal again.
In a pregame ceremony, the fans honored the victims and heroes of 2013. An hour later, they were booing Clay Buchholz.
We never forget. We never lose our reverence for the victims, our appreciation for the heroes and our pride in the response.
But we move on. Closure accomplished, that began late Monday afternoon in Boston.