![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I never much liked the #prayfor... hashtag on Twitter. It always struck me as bandwagon-jumping and attention-seeking in the wake of a tragedy for many of those using it. I liked it even less five years ago tonight, when terror came to my adopted city once again. I glanced at my computer before going to bed, and saw something trending. I looked at the news and it was clear something bad was happening. When I got up the next morning, it was clear just how bad. 22 people dead.
Some things you shouldn't repeat on Twitter. On my way to work, my bus was passed by two unmarked black cars with blue lights behind the front grill but no sirens, moving very fast indeed. I said nothing about it online that day, because it was very clear where they were going and why, and you don't give terrorists advance warning if you have any common sense or decency.
My office is close enough to the Manchester Arena that we had press cars parked outside over the next few days. Some of my colleagues were delayed coming to work, because their normal route by train or tram or road was blocked. Victoria Station was a major crime scene. We had a constant reminder for days of what had happened. The entire office stood silent at the windows during the remembrance minute a week later. Yes, it's possible to cry silently. Most of us were.
The scars are healing for those who weren't directly affected, although they'll never heal for those who lost loved ones or were injured, and those who were there that night but got away physically unharmed. But we remember. It's what we can do for those who can't heal.
Some things you shouldn't repeat on Twitter. On my way to work, my bus was passed by two unmarked black cars with blue lights behind the front grill but no sirens, moving very fast indeed. I said nothing about it online that day, because it was very clear where they were going and why, and you don't give terrorists advance warning if you have any common sense or decency.
My office is close enough to the Manchester Arena that we had press cars parked outside over the next few days. Some of my colleagues were delayed coming to work, because their normal route by train or tram or road was blocked. Victoria Station was a major crime scene. We had a constant reminder for days of what had happened. The entire office stood silent at the windows during the remembrance minute a week later. Yes, it's possible to cry silently. Most of us were.
The scars are healing for those who weren't directly affected, although they'll never heal for those who lost loved ones or were injured, and those who were there that night but got away physically unharmed. But we remember. It's what we can do for those who can't heal.
