Most of you, dear readers, were here in the United States, sleeping, unaware, as Londoners felt the ugly hand of terrorism come sweeping down. I was in Essex, teaching, learning of the events through emails and Google searches, praying that Kathy's loved ones in London would check in soon (they did, thankfully).
The bombing of the London Transit System, in some ways, affected me more personally than even 9/11. I was so close to London--just an hour's train ride from the carnage. One of the Tube trains that was bombed was very close to Liverpool Street Station, a station I regularly rode into on BritRail, rode out of on the Tube, walked through, shopped in. I had memories and personal connections to three of the four bombed areas, whereas New York City and Washington D.C. are faraway cities I visited as a preteen.
Don't get me wrong, 9/11 shocked and scared me. I cried, I felt deep pain for our country and my countrymen. But London was so close.
I joke about my Anglophilia, that "I'm gonna marry a British man." I coo over the accent and drink my Tetley tea. I have my cute little "London Shrine" in my living room. In the end, London is so much more than a favorite city--it's a place I associate with healing, with adventure, with making new paths in my life--both times that I lived in England.
So July 7, 2005 hurt me. The emails poured in from friends and family when they got my message: I'm okay. I'm not IN London--close, but not in the city. But oh, how I hurt.
So today, I'm sending a little shout-out to London. To my friends and family (for they're as good as) in England.
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