Tomorrow is the 40th anniversary of the Bloody Friday bombings. 22 bombs exploded within an hour and half of each other, and nine people were killed. I watched a documentary on BBC 1 about it last night, witnessing the moments when the bombs exploded in Botanic Avenue, Oxford Street, Donegall Road. To me it was a moment in time that escapes me, as I am too young to know of it, however when I caught a glimpse of my father crying to himself last night after the show was over it became more than just a documentary. My father was 20 years old at the time of the bombings, not much younger than I am now. I can't imagine what that must have been like. 

I guess I am writing this blog as I try to get my head around what motivates the murder of children and mothers and sons. The dark days of the Troubles are gone, and I hope to God they are gone for good, but the events taking place today are a stark and shocking reminder that the dark days aren't over for everyone. Even when the bullets stop flying and the bombs have stopped going off, the horror still lives on in the minds of those that live with the memories of what they have seen. 

My thoughts and prayers are with the people who mourn today in Denver, and in Syria and anywhere that madmen have visited violence upon them.