The Manchester Terror Attack last Monday evening (May 22nd @ 10:30pm) at the end of a concert filled with children, is something I had no words for. Horror wasn't exactly something that sank into me right after. The shock buffered it first and then when daylight came on Tuesday and I had to go to my day job, horror decided to join me to work. Shock kept me from working.
This terrible incident affected me more because I live here. In Manchester. My family and I are adopted Mancs. The tragedy, heartbreak, and indescribable loss of the families and of every Mancunian living in Manchester in the last few days has been palpable. In the air, in the stricken faces of those who still can't believe what had happened, in the hollow laughter of people trying to come to terms with the loss, trying to keep on living,
And yet, we can't help but stop living for the families who have lost loved ones to a deranged person. A person who has whipped up another storm of xenophobic sentiment of ignoramuses only to happy to divde us. Not unite us.
For the last few days, I've not been able to consistently write. I keep telling myself that I must keep on going because I wasn't directly affected. But that's just sick, and callous, and unfeeling. That's not human.
I am still reeling. I don't exactly tell people how this incident has affected me. The day after the bombing, I embraced my 18 year old son thanking God for the reprieve and at the same time mourning the loss of others.
So, I'm trying to get back to regular programming - of writing about the Cynn Cruors and Firebinders and the world of my Second Chances series. There will be joy in sadness, sadness in joy for the months and even years to come. But there is also the need to reclaim normalcy even if what I know to be normalcy is no longer there. I also have an obligation to keep living and enjoying life, to keep laughing with people to create better memories, to keep loving because that is the only pathway I know to forgiveness.
And to be resilient.
After all, I am a Mancunian.