We are all aware of it. The event that brought Manchester to the forefront of the world’s stage. The event that tried to tear down the very heart of a city. To divide it. To turn it black with hate and anger.

The Manchester 22.

The lives that were senselessly taken by someone that had no right. Someone whose mind was tainted by a belief that the majority struggle to understand.

I struggle to understand.

I don’t want to understand.

I’ve been envious of people before, yes. I have thought about punching someone squarely in the face for reasons that often relate to having one too many wobbly pops. Never. Never have I had the thought of wanting to kill people for the sake of something I believe in. Feeling like I should kill myself and those people because I am therefore saving them or myself. Never thought that innocent people need to be sacrificed in order for my soul to be saved. And I’m not aware of anyone that feels that way either.

Once again, I draw parallels to Dan’s death. People might struggle to understand why. Norman Raddatz was supposedly a Freeman on the Land. I’m not all that sure really of what that officially entailed. From what I am aware, he had issues with some laws (don’t we all?!?) and then chose not to follow the rules on these laws. Essentially breaking said laws as he felt they weren’t applicable to him.

Clear as mud? Yes? Me too.

Anywho.

Dan was in the Hate Crimes department-which has now changed it’s name FYI. Being that he was in this department and he was shot, I draw a parallel to the intensity of the event and the way the city has enveloped the victims and their families into their hearts.Just as the City of Edmonton did with mine.

I remember my parents being completely overwhelmed by the cheer magnitude of the Love and support I was shown by the city of Edmonton. Police officers were being hugged in the street and thanked by the public for keeping them safe. Schools were having collections, bake sales, anything that could raise some money for the boys and I. Wristbands were made, Blue ribbons were everywhere, t-shirts were made… I was often walking along the street or in the park with my children. Any public place and people would come over to us and tell me how sorry they were. Thanking Dan for his service and his sacrifice. Telling me that he didn’t die in vein and they would be there for us always.  It was beyond all belief.

I think of Manchester. I think of the way this city has come together in a way people may not have expected. A muslim man standing on the streets of Manchester, blindfolded a sign.

There were so many people who came and hugged this man that a line formed. Showing that they didn’t blame his religion. They didn’t blame him. They stood with him. In unity.

There have been so many gestures and fundraising events for the victims of this vicious attack. The biggest of this amazing solidarity of support being a tattoo of a worker bee. The bee is a symbol of Manchester. Back when the industrial revolution took place, Manchester was home to a lot of factories. All the workers in these factories were likened to a bees in a beehive. Coining the term ‘busy bees’. Tattoo shops have been inundated with requests and queues have been out the door for a number of days now.T shirts, decals and various other things have appeared- all with the bee being the symbol of Manchesters spirit.

Facebook pictures with I ❤ MCR all over. The world adorning various buildings with the Union Jack.

Pink balloons are everywhere. Pink balloons were dropped from the sky during the last song of the concert. From there, these pink balloons are a sign of remembrance.

Oasis. The band that basically are Manchester. Their song ‘Don’t Look Back In Anger’ has become an anthem. You can’t beat us. We look back on it with sadness, but not with hate. Rest assured that it has failed in achieving anything.

I am so, so proud to be a member of this city. To be able to say I have Manchester spirit flowing through my veins. That I was born in this buzzing city.

It has brought a city together in ways no-one else in the UK could follow. But ways we are all so very proud of. The city has proven what Mancunians knew all along.

And these hard times again, in these streets of our city, but we won’t take defeat and we don’t want your pity.

C xx

Last night was a late night for me. Normally, if I stay awake beyond 10:30pm, I turn into a sleep deprived monster. Last night, I was still awake after 11pm. Perusing through my addiction that is social media. One after the other, status’ about a loud noise at the Ariana Grande concert began to surface. Which then turned into an explosion at the concert. Then to a possible terrorist attack. Things escalated very quickly. All kinds of information being written in the comments.

I couldn’t help but think of how damaging this is. Yes, people like to keep informed. They like to know what is happening. Any information they can get from anyone. I am the same. Well, I was. Something like this. Something that you can never truly comprehend doesn’t need any kind of speculation. In any way. There was a picture that was released somewhere- I don’t know who started it, but it was a picture from an earlier exercise some years ago. This picture was truly awful. It showed complete destruction in the stadium. Easily something that would cause so much panic and instantly make you feel like your family member couldn’t have survived. This is exactly what I am talking about. Yes, I do draw comparisons to the day Dan died. I’m going to. I was also hearing all this speculation about the events of the night. It was, to put it lightly, disturbing. Causing constant worry. Neasea. Distress.

Suffice to say, news has reached everywhere. All over the world. I received messages from lots of my Canadian friends asking of my safety. Thos was comforting. I have since seen pictures of children who are missing being placed on facebook. These pictures being shared in the hope that these people are recognised and reunited. A page for people to mark that they are safe, a page for people to place pictures on for those still missing. This is the positive of social media . This is what it should be used for.

One thing I can say is I’m proud of Manchester. It is a city that has- unfortunately-dealt with an attack before. Manchester is resilient. Mancunians won’t let this define them. But the families of those who have been injured or lost their lives will struggle to begin with. Struggle with the magnitude of the situation they have been thrust into. And it’s up to us, as a city, to make sure we take care of them. To make sure they are felt to feel loved and supported. People are offering their homes, offering things as simple as a cup of tea, a blanket. An ear in which to listen. It all makes a difference.

Stay strong our kid. We stand behind you.

We are MANCHESTER.

I ran into my head teacher from my primary school recently. I loved my head teacher. I had such great memories, both fun and slightly scary. From the way he used to strum his guitar before we sang a hymn that was projected onto the wall, to being sat in an assembly and suddenly seeing him click his fingers which meant instant silence. He didn’t miss a trick and was-in my eyes- highly respected.

Anyway, back on track.

He had just dropped his grandchild at school, as I had with the boys. The pleasantries were exchanged, y’know, as you do. Hi. How are you? How is the family? How long are you here for?

Within an instant, I was at a crossroads. Say the absolute truth…?

Well, we are back because my husband was killed and we needed to be with family 

Or my standard, rehearsed response…

Yes, we are we very well, thankyou. Not sure yet. Just taking it a day at a time. It’s just lovely to be with family again. 

I chose the latter. I mean, who am I to ruin this poor man’s morning. He’s merely there to take his granddaughter to school, making small talk with the other parents stood in the school playground and BAM… He tries to comprehend the words that have just come from your mouth and suddenly uncomfortable regarding what to say next. Whether to ask more about it. Part of me wanted to tell him at that moment. I realised that this was all to do with the security I found by people knowing my story. Not particularly for the attention- as I’m sure some people think it is- just giving them the knowledge about the episode…tragic event…life changing day…whatever you want to call it.

Thing is, it’s part of my normality. It’s something that doesn’t necessarily phase me anymore. I have no issue with saying my husband was murdered. But, this is shocking for others. Something that doesn’t happen every day. It only happens in movies, or on TV. Not to the person that you know or the person that you’re talking to. There is a strange part of me that wants that shock factor though, too. Their faces turn instantly from a worried smile (is she being serious or kidding right now) to that expression, a deer in headlights. Basically WTF say to this person now!? face.

That isn’t fair though. Not fair at all. So, because I wanted that apparent anonymity, I chose to keep quiet on this occasion. Maybe another time I would tell him. If he asked a little more detail or I felt it was really the right time.

I admit, I am really struggling with this anonymity thing. It was something I thought I really wanted. Really needed. It’s one of the main reasons I came here. To become myself again and not have a tag attached to my name. Turns out, I want it all. Both the anonymity and security of being acknowledged.

In a strange, maybe almost gross way, I feel like it is my little party trick. Most of the time this little nugget born out of horrific circumstance can trigger a really good conversation that veers into positives rather than negatives. It feels a little morbid and almost fame hungry to say, but you really do get used to the attention you get. The kids at one point asked why they weren’t at an awards ceremony on the TV- I think it was the Grammy’s. Asking them why they thought they should be there, Gabe said, quite matter of factly

We’re famous. We should be there.

I can feel some of you judging me as you read more. Getting angry maybe. Until you have been in that situation though, you will never truly understand it. They say that you can’t help who you fall in love with. Well I can’t help the way I feel. You can try and change these feelings, but it is only when you are truthful with yourself. So that’s all I can be.

Cx

I came across a headline the other day that instantly made me angry. It was a tweet on social media from a newspaper in Canada, local to Edmonton. I was in a fairly sunshiney mood until that moment. The more I looked at the headline, the more I felt as if my blood was beginning to boil. Like a fire was about to shoot out of my head, a la Anger in the movie Inside Out. Which is one of, if not my favourite Pixar movie- just so you know.

This was the headline;

“Widow speaks out after Wynn’s Law effectively defeated”

Here’s the backstory. This headline is regarding a lady named Shelley Wynn. Her husband was killed on duty in January, 2015. A few months before Dan. Cst David WYNN was with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Our husbands unfortunately shared the same fate. The only real differences were that my husband was killed instantly, whereas she watched her husband’s life slowly be taken away whilst she sat at vigil with him in a hospital room. In my opinion, this was far more traumatising. After her husband’s death, she fought to have a law set into place so that it would be mandatory for a Crown prosecutor to present an accused person’s criminal record and any outstanding charges during a bail hearing. Had this have been done, the shooter would not have been released on bail and her husband may not have been senselessly murdered.

So, knowing this information. Look at the headline again. To most, there isn’t really anything that stands out. Look at the first word.

Widow.

Why couldn’t this headline read her name rather than such a cold word. Yes, we are widows, but we are also people. People who want to get on with their lives. I know, for myself personally, as time went on, I struggled with constantly being known as anything but simply Claire. Have you heard that rhyme. The one about names… Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me. Well.Newsflash. Names hurt. They hurt a lot.

That word. widow. It began to define me as a person. I became known as “The widow of fallen officer Daniel Woodall” or “Cst Daniel Woodall’s widow Claire.” My name took second place or didn’t make it to the podium at all. Not only in the news but in my everyday life. People walking past me, looking at me. Whispering to themselves (and not in a derogatory way) “that’s that woman who’s husband was killed. The police widow.” There was that word again. Widow. That word defining who I was to others.

There I was trying to move on. Trying to make new relationships, begin new romances. And I couldn’t. They couldn’t. (It may have been a good excuse to use-but still!) I felt like I had been boxed into this category of untouchable. Dan’s passing was so prolific and so utterly earth shattering to the city, I wasn’t able to be myself anymore. Often, unbeknown to them, people couldn’t come to terms with the fact that I was a normal person wanting normal relationships- be that friends or otherwise- but I was.

The realisation to come back to Manchester was, in part, due to this very reason. I couldn’t move on. I don’t want to be single forever and I’m pretty sure Dan wouldn’t want me to be single forever. I’m 34. Yeah, that’s right. I said it. I have children that are rambunctious. Typical boys in every sense of the word. They need a permanent male figure in their lives to steer them in the right direction. To help me in teaching them right from wrong. Don’t get me wrong, I know I am more than capable of doing this myself. I’ve done it for the last 2 years. Single parenthood has made tested me and brought out this person who I sometimes don’t recognise and that’s both a good and bad thing. Honestly though, what I need, is someone that I can turn to and say. TAG-you’re it. You deal with them. I’m tapping out.

Oh, woe is you. Everyone came to your aid, did everything they could to help you and your children and you’re moaning?! Seriously?! About a word?! I can hear some of you. I can see you rolling your eyes.  Let me tell you, I adore Edmonton. The boya and I received so much love. From the people of the city and beyond, I drew so much strength. Strength that made me able to move on from this tragedy.

I’ve also explained that I don’t like this anonymity anymore either. I will delve a little deeper another time. Then you’ll all be really confused (welcome to my world!) There’s a fine line and right now I don’t know which side of it I want to be on. What I do know though is that I’m ready for something new. Ready to welcome in someone new. Ready to start this new chapter as simply, Claire

Cx