So I was in the midst of a post about loss and belonging which I thought I’d finish today and then I woke up to yet another terrorist incident in London Bridge.  And this old post, in less than 24 hours, seems oddly out of date.  No one can make sense of what is happening in our world, it seems to be tilting on its axis.  And words written one day don’t translate the next.  Or in case of Trump,  words of bile and hate tweeted in one second, seem petty and deliberately cruel and divisive when there is a call for a more collective coming together, led by London’s Muslim mayor, Sadiq Khan.

Of course the joker of the free world will not tune into the spirit of what is happening in the UK tonight.  It does not suit his purpose to bring religions, tribes, people together, with the sole purpose of love for humanity.  The people in Manchester and London who  turn out in their thousands, stand in brave defiance of any act of terrorism.  They choose to not be cowed in the face of mad extremism. They turn up, young and old, girls and boys, men, women and gender neutral, gay, straight.  Christian’s, Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus. Atheists   –  no matter how they define themselves – they stand together across our country.  Remarkably so many enjoying the concert in Manchester tonight are the ones who got away two weeks ago.

For survivors, after the initial shock, there comes confusion and anger, fear, relief and a heightened sense of emotion, of aliveness and purpose.  These emotions will crash together for a long time  so you live in a sea of swirling sickness.  A bringing together is cathartic, a chance to share the collective grief, relief and guilt.  Why them, not me?  What is the meaning of this? How can I live my life with greater purpose?  How can I learn and grow from this experience?  How do I rejoice in this greater connection?

Three weeks ago I lost a mentoree.  I met Charlie last October, shortly after her mouth cancer diagnosis.  A beautiful, feisty, single Mum, her 12 year old son, Tyler, would come and hang out and play X-box with Roscoe as Charlie and I holed up and I talked her off the ledge and towards her operation and recovery.  We discussed how she was going to raise awareness of mouth cancer and decided on vlogging  as Charlie’s personality and looks made her a powerful advocate for people to stop and pay attention.

That first night, Charlie showed me her cancer and talked a lot about death and her fears for Tyler’s future.  Over the course of the following weeks it was a subject she would return to and I, who never considered the possibility when given my own diagnosis,  would talk her round and get her to look long forward.

Only Charlie proved me wrong.  Despite everything; her fierce love for her son, her advocacy, the sheer strength and will of those family and friends who held her, comforted her and challenged her to keep on, her body gave up and she died early on Saturday morning.

And I am bobbing in the stormy sea of survivor’s guilt.  There’s no sense to be made.  Sometimes you can be in the wrong place at the wrong time, sometimes it is just your time.  And for those of us left behind,  we need to find the words through the guilt and fear, the relief and gratitude, to explain how we feel and what we’re thinking and to reach out for help, support and love.

And those living with and loving the ones who are fortunate enough to have got away, please remember healing takes time and happens in many forms.  The single most powerful thing you can do is put your own judgement and fear to one side and just listen.