As the 7/7 families hugged each other inside, and outside, the cathedral, nodding to each other in tearful support, I saw people who had all experienced an ordinary day turning into the worst possible nightmare of any parent, spouse or sibling.
That evening, as I absorbed the news, I made a vow to travel by tube the next morning, because if I didn't, my thoughts were that I would not step foot on another underground train for fear of what it might bring. I remember my intense apprehension on the Northern Line platform at Waterloo as the tube doors opened to reveal an empty carriage.
First there were some odd reports of a "power surge"; then came the slow understanding of the scale of events - and the news of the bus that was carrying Miriam. I was editing a magazine not far from Tavistock square, and I cycled out into the streets of Holborn. I remember the blankness on the faces of the crowds, people milling around - not sure whether to stay and work out what was happening, or whether to try to continue to get to work. Today we remember those London commuters, Miriam and rest of the 52 who died.