One of the things that never fails to impress in me in the life of an MP is the stories of extraordinary human resilience you come across.

I’m writing this on the eve of the seventh anniversary of the Manchester Arena Bomb. It was a moment that changed our region. A moment we are still processing. But a moment that demonstrated Manchester’s strength, and our unity.

Many, many impressive stories of human resilience came from that moment.

One of them is that of Figen Murray OBE. Figen lost her lovely son Martyn Hett in the attack. After years campaigning for Martyn’s Law, which would make public premises safer, Figen has spent the last two weeks walking an incredible 200 miles from Manchester to London to highlight that despite encouraging noises, Martyn’s Law to increase and improve event security has not yet been enacted.

200 miles of blisters, hip pain, sun burn and being wet through, for miles and miles every day. That’s the kind of resilience only deep love can give you.

Every family rocked by loss following the Arena bomb knew that love. Every family rocked by injury and trauma knows that recovery is a very complex word and rarely a linear endeavour. And every family in Greater Manchester remembers where they were when they heard the terrible news that something awful had happened at the Arena. We remember it vividly as if it were yesterday.

I know that for many local families, every anniversary means reliving that awful night, and the dark days that followed. And if you’re reading this and that applies to you, please know our entire region is thinking of you. We urged each other to stay strong, our kid. I’m awe struck by the extend that we -Greater Manchester as a whole- did just that. But it’s also ok not to be strong. It’s ok to still be working through it. And it’s ok that we are ever learning more lessons from one of the saddest chapters in our shared history.

This week we remember the 22. We pay tribute to their love of live music, their living of life, and their whole selves – the stories that we have come to know, and the private narratives that those that loved them cherished. We nod at each other when we clock one another’s bee tattoos. And we reaffirm now what we gathered together instinctively to assert then. That terror never wins.