Today my Mum goes for a scan to see if her cancer has spread. The past few days since she got her diagnosis have seemed like an eternity. She is 80 and of course I didn’t expect her to live for ever, but I don’t want to face anything happening to her just yet.
Then an alert flashes up on my Apple Watch the smiling face of an 8 year old girl killed in the suicide bombing outside Manchester Arena last night in the UK and I am reminded that death comes for us all. It can come far too soon and out of the blue, like it did for that little girl.
All the news coverage of the bombing reminds me I’m British. Like I am thrown back home by the videos showing British people talk and British policemen and British ambulances.
I know Manchester well. I lived there for 3 years when I was at college. This makes the bombing seem more immediate more personal.
I message my friend who lives there. Her girls are just the right age to be Arianna Grande Fans. She messages back almost instantaneously. They are all fine, thankfully.
When I moved to Texas I was so scared about moving somewhere that had guns and mass shootings. This bombing, and the car attack in London, make me aware that tragedy can strike you anywhere. Even somewhere like a Disney Pop Star concert for teens: that would seem perfectly safe and harmless to all the parents who let their teenagers go alone and are now desperately trying to find them on social media. My heart goes out to those who don’t find them alive.