It is so hard to write about the traumatic events that unfolded on Monday night, so this might be a bit fragmented.
Hubby is quite good at those “Oh my God!” moments, like those facebook posts where people post half a status that drives people crazy. He’ll often have an outburst which leaves me repeating “What? What?” a thousand times before he reveals something mundane. Not Tuesday morning at 5am though. It was quickly followed by “There has been a bomb attack in Manchester.” The girl who will hit the snooze button more times than she cares to admit, was immediately awake and the news went on and her heart died a little.
For these lives to have ended in such a cruel way was such cowardice. Such hatred.
The news reported that 19 lives had been lost. Then 22. There is the potential for more as over 55 people remain injured, many critical.
How strange though that term ‘lost’. Those lives weren’t lost – they were stolen.
The day saw my social media feed filled with please for help. ‘Have you seen…?’ or ‘Do you know…’ People who were missing. Today saw those faces slowly appear on the news, confirmed as dead. My brain will not allow me to process, to dwell, on the pain that their families must feel.
Hatred will now win, after all ‘love conquers all’.