I was in the car when my wife and daughter were killed.
My daughter had gone to the local mosque and heard the blast.
“My daughter was crying and screaming, and my husband, who was in another vehicle, was trying to help her,” he said.
“I heard a noise that I thought was the explosion.
It sounded like an explosion, and I just saw a big cloud of dust, and then the whole sky turned black.”
He looked over to the street and saw two men in their 50s who were lying dead on the ground.
“The men in the black jackets were dead on arrival,” he recalled.
It’s hard to understand what’s happening. “
But I don’t know what they did, and if they died because of the blast, I don to know.
It’s hard to understand what’s happening.
It sounds like something big has happened.”
The blast ripped apart a nearby mosque and a nearby market.
At the scene, a local doctor said a woman was lying in a pool of blood, surrounded by people.
“She has died of her injuries,” the doctor said.
I had never been to the area before, and so I asked my daughter if she knew what happened.
“No, but my dad told me it was an accident,” she said.
That was the first time I’d heard the phrase “accident” used to describe the blasts.
A few weeks later, my wife went to the hospital to see her.
The doctors told her that they had received a call from the police saying that there had been an explosion at the market.
She’d heard from her father, who had been a neighbour, that the blast had been caused by an “accommodating device”.
The family was worried.
I went to visit them and we were told that there was no danger.
“That was a miracle,” I told her.
“It was an explosive device that went off in the street.”
I asked if the explosion was the result of a bomb.
“Yes, but it’s not a bomb,” she replied.
“They said there was an incident with a bomb and it had caused an explosion.” “
We had a conversation with the police,” she added.
“They said there was an incident with a bomb and it had caused an explosion.”
My daughter was in hospital, but she was not in critical condition.
The family said that she was told by the police that she had been injured during the explosion and that her injuries were not life-threatening.
“In my mind, the fact that she died is the worst thing,” my daughter said.
But what about my son?
“My son is fine,” my wife said.
The doctor said that the hospital would take the family’s concerns seriously.
“At the moment, the hospital is taking these concerns very seriously,” he added.
I asked the doctor if the family would be able to see their son.
“Our son is not in the hospital, because the ambulance is already there,” he replied.
He said that they were trying to find a doctor who could help them with the care of their son’s injuries.
“When they get there, they will see the injuries and get to the bottom of the circumstances of his death,” the hospital doctor said, referring to the fact he was in intensive care.
My wife’s friend and a colleague, who happened to be at the hospital with us, were also in shock.
“He was in such a bad state,” she told me.
“So many people were injured.”
We were told he was “in a bad place”, but we weren’t sure of the severity of his injuries.
She said that when they visited him, he was still in a bad condition, and that she could not believe that he was alive.
“His family were asking me, ‘Are you OK, your son?'” she said, as tears streamed down her face.
The next day, I asked her how she felt about the police telling the family that they couldn’t see their child.
“This is our son’s mother, my friend, and her husband,” she sobbed.
“Please don’t tell her what’s happened, or tell them the truth.”
My wife had no idea that her son’s body was being taken away from him by the state, which she was unable to understand.
It was a horrific experience.
I felt guilty for not being there to support them, but I was overwhelmed by the grief they felt.
“All I can do is help them,” my friend said.
And so we started to help them.
I met them at the morgue.
“What’s going on with your son?” my friend asked, while holding my hand.
“You don’t have to tell him,” my son replied.
I was there to listen to his voice.
“Well, he’s alive,” he continued.
“Everything is OK.”
“We don’t want to hear you