My day after the Manchester bomb
Liz Green sees people at their best in a time of tragedy
I get the message on my phone at 11:30pm on Monday night. I am texting my brother about taking Mum to an unexpected doctor’s appointment the next day. Our Mum is ninety-six. Is there any point in the referral? Why are we going? Mum is nearing the end of her life. She’d been out of it – eyes closed, not responding – when I’d seen her on Sunday. Today she had been more alert. But living for what? For me? For us? Then comes the intrusion into our own private, personal concerns. A bomb explosion, death in Manchester Arena, Victoria Station, where we often go.
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