Manchester. London Bridge. Grenfell Tower. Three tragic events where people died, and shouldn’t have.

I don’t know if it’s my age and my hormones changing, or whether the loss of my dad makes others’ experience of death feel more real, but I’ve struggled to listen to some of the personal accounts without shedding a tear.

I travel to London Bridge regularly and could picture the places where that attack took place. I happened to log on to Twitter just as the story was breaking and watched in horror as the drama unfolded in a matter of seconds, from a few police cars heading to the area to full-scale terror.

I watched as people ran from the danger, as police officers charged into bars trying to keep as many people safe as possible and how within minutes the terror was over but heartbreak and grief was just beginning.

Just as quick to emerge was the praise for our emergency services and how they bravely ran towards the danger, putting their lives on the line to save others.

And just as quick was the offer of help from strangers, people who lived in the area who started putting out on social media offers of a bed for the night, a safe haven for those in need.

On Wednesday, the market re-opened after police had finished their forensic investigations there, and the message was “we’re stronger than ever”.

Victims were remembered with a minute’s silence but everyone there was clearly determined terrorism was not going to win and the family that is the communities we live and work in would always stand defiant.

The inferno at Grenfell Tower may not have been terror related but the loss of life is still hitting the community hard.

My heart feels heavy at that loss too, but again, the tales of heroism and kindness are overwhelming: the mother who dropped her baby to safety from the 10th floor; the quick-thinking mum who saved her family by flooding her 11th floor flat, keeping it cool long enough for rescuers to arrive; trapped residents hanging makeshift ropes made of sheets out of their windows several storeys up to make their escape.

And again, our emergency services, pushed to the limit but there when we need them. Then there’s the never-ending support by people offering places to stay, clothes, food, water, nappies, cash and a hug when it’s needed more than ever.

Life is full of yin and yang. Human tragedy is a terrible thing but, every time, human kindness shines through, growing stronger each time.

It’s a heartwarming thing in dark times.

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I’ve been playing netball for a long time, but it seems the years are slipping away faster than I thought.

A friend and I lined up on court on Thursday evening, not relishing the next hour running around in fairly high temperatures.

A low, setting sun meant we spent half the match squinting, trying to focus on the players and the ball.

Those were the least of our worries. The other team was clearly much younger, faster and fitter than we were.

Curious, my friend asked her opponent how old she was. Turned out there was a 31-year age gap.

We’d have liked to have thought that gave us plenty of experience over youthful energy. Sadly not.

It’s fair to say we got a trouncing. My evening ended with a crushing defeat and a sprained finger but a warm glow that, with 30-odd years between us, it wasn’t quite as painful as it could have been.