It’s the night of the 6th here in Ontario but of course back home in London the morning commute is already starting. And I’m not really one to note anniversaries or to dwell (well at least I try not to), but I can’t not mention what happened a year ago.
My lasting memories of 7th July 2005 involve confusion and terror, but for the most part it’s actually positive. This sounds terrible as obviously it was a horrible event with tragic consequences. But my own experience started off, before I even knew what happened, with Mark not being happy with me not answering my mobile (I was in a meeting) and calling a number of different people in my organisation before he knew I was okay and we had a chance to chat. I need to remember things like that when I get annoyed with him! We had teary phone calls from family just so thankful we were okay, and emails from people I hadn’t heard from in years making sure that we were all right. It was slightly more emotional as I was pregnant and a load of people were going to be coming over from Canada in a few weeks for the wedding.
I realised later that day that I had actually not even arrived at Baker Street station until all of the bombs on trains had already gone off. The bus I took to work passed the back of Edgware Road station uneventfully as usual. I had no idea what had already happened. But then we were locked into our building, watching the bulletins on the BBC get worse and worse, and Mark and I had to figure out how to get home (he picked me up in the car). It felt like the day that Grace and I watched the planes fly into the towers at her house in Kitchener at lunchtime during our social work placements – except worse and more real.
So I guess I focus on the positive feelings that came out of that horrible day, and feel thankful.
I’ve been able, thanks to my parents, to have some time hanging out with friends this week. Going out to restaurants, having drinks and good chats – just feeling like a normal person again and not some stir-crazy undomestic non-goddess getting frustrated with a crying baby stuck in the middle of the countryside with no friends and nothing to do. But the best part is that when I come home, I am happy to see Oliver again. And I feel lucky – a feeling that Mark expressed a few months ago that I couldn’t empathise with at the time.