This is a very sad week as we process our grief and shock from yet another terrorist attack. Only now it is different. Now it is right on my doorstep. In my city. My Manchester.

OK, I don’t live in Manchester any more, but I spent most of my twenties in that beautiful place, enjoying the social life, the atmosphere, the energy and the life. We only moved away for purposes of work, family and economic circumstances.

My Manchester. Our Manchester.

My Manchester. Our Manchester. And those poor families, lives ripped apart so horrifically. I know that these attacks have been taking place for many years all around the world. And I cried each time I heard about them on the news. But they were not my places. I hadn’t visited them. I had no physical link to them. Well, now I do. Manchester was home to my husband while he studied at university, and subsequently I made my way there as well to be with him. We worked in Manchester, lived in Manchester, and loved in Manchester for many years.

My visits to the city are less frequent these days, although I was there very recently with my children when we visited Legoland Discovery at the Trafford Centre. And we had an Easter outing to Dunham Massey on the outskirts of the city. So, I suppose we do visit more often than we think. I am a long-term patient at the Manchester Royal Eye Hospital, we have friends that still live in the city, it is our home. Our Manchester. And I cried so much when I heard the tragic news. Now all I can do is send loving, healing, supporting energy to those in need. It helps, even if we don’t see it. We stand strong together. We will not back down. We are Manchester.

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