On Friday there was an attack.
In the haven that welcomed my family with open arms when ours was no longer safe enough to keep calling home.
Here in the place that allowed us a sense of belonging that our own country had snatched away.
The attack was carried out on people in their most vulnerable states, people with their head down in peaceful prayer.
A planned attack.
An attack he proudly videoed to share with the world.
Everything has changed.
Even in Wellington, hours away from the city in devastation, there is a hush over the city. A cloud of despair.
People all around me have expressed the mutual feelings waves of grief that render them breathless. The sudden unexpected rush of tears at odd times in the days.
How do you end up with a heart so filled with hate?
Our defence forces are on high alert.
For the first time, our unwavering trust in our safety has been bought into question.
The terror that plagues so much of the rest the world is right here, in our back yard.
Families have been torn apart. Forced to mourn the loss of loved ones taken too soon at the hands of a monster.
It is hard to get our heads around what has happened.
Hard to put into words what we feel.
Hard to explain why we feel the way we do, even those unaffected personally – even us with our loved ones being safely home and unharmed.
It’s hard to process this feeling of helplessness.
Hard to know how to process the feelings we’re carrying around.
The nation has banded together.
Supporting each other.
Holding hands with those who need to cry.
Listening to each other while we work through what has happened and try to comprehend the events.
But there are people out there that support what has happened.
People who agree with what he has done.
That thought in the back of our minds is always there.
Tearing us apart from the inside.
How do we pick back up?
How do we move on from here?
How do we understand?
How do we help our children understand?
Where to from here?
We will never be the same again, but we can hold onto our hope.