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

I had been told that my parents and Dan’s parents were on their way. What a crappy reason to be whisked away on a paid for flight. My parents coming to comfort their daughter and the Dan’s parents coming to lay their son to rest. It was a hectic day. Immediately we were sorting things out. Getting the house ready for interviews, receiving a constant stream of beautiful bouquets, food, gifts for the boys. Neighbours, I didn’t know, knocking on my door offering to host my family should I run out of room.

Preparations were being made to pick up our parents. Once they landed, they would be whisked through airport security- all very official-and chauffeured through the city to our home. Throughout the day, the city of Edmonton had begun to place blue ribbons all around the city. This was a mark of respect, not only for Dan, but for the police force in general. To show that they were all appreciated. That there were thankful for them. That they understood not only Dan’s sacrifice, but their daily sacrifice by going to a job that people seemed to take for granted the risk that these officers put themselves in day to day.

It was decided that there would be a special route for our parents. So they could see just how the city had rallied together and showed their love, respect and support for us.

In the evening that they arrived, as sad as they were, it was a wonderful sight for them to see. Boarding that plane must have been so unbelievably hard. But for that one moment, they saw just how much this city wanted to respect Dan’s memory. I am and will always will be forever grateful.

Cx