Saturday 30 May 2009

My son Alexander, known as Al to his family (Alexander when he was in trouble) and Alex to his friends, died whilst crossing the road at 9.20pm on Saturday 30 May 2009. He had been hit by a large taxi. I am told he died instantly and suffered no pain. His friends saw the whole thing happen in front of them. They were traumatised by it.

I received a call from the Police at 9.30pm telling me that he had been involved in a Serious Road Traffic Accident and asking me to make my way to the hospital, which I did with my 13-year-old daughter. I was painfully aware that 'Serious Road Traffic Accident’ meant more than a broken bone or two and as I drove there, I just kept thinking, "Please don't let him be dead. Please don't let him be dead. Please don't let him be dead." I have since learned that I should not have received that news by phone but that someone should have come to my house and taken me to the hospital. Several months later, I complained and received an apology but have never received an explanation about why that error was made.

On our arrival, less than 15 minutes later, no one seemed to have heard of him and I was told to wait outside the A&E entrance to meet the ambulance as it came in. I deposited my daughter in front of the TV to watch the end of Britain’s Got talent, went outside ... and waited ... and waited ... pacing up and down. After 10 minutes, I went back into A&E and asked if there was any news.

Again, I was told to wait outside. I persisted – surely they knew something? I’d had time to get all the way to the hospital so why wasn’t my son there? I then began to question myself and wondered if I’d gone to the right hospital and asked how I’d know where he had been taken. After asking how old he was, the receptionist went to ask the manager of the Children’s A&E dept next door. Several minutes later, she returned and told me she knew nothing and again told me to wait outside for the ambulance. I knew something was wrong. She was speaking to me but wouldn’t look at me, let alone meet my eyes. When she told me to wait outside, she actually used a shooing motion with her hand.

Frightened but strangely compliant, I returned outside, and began to wonder if this were just a sick hoax so I called the police who confirmed that Al had been involved in an Road Traffic Accident and instructed me to wait where I was as someone would be along soon. I asked where the accident had taken place and was given the name of the road - it was half way between my house and the hospital.

I agreed to wait and called my sister-in-law just for someone to talk to as I was becoming very frightened. My family were all at a BBQ at my sister’s place 15 miles away. They’d all had wine and were therefore unable to drive so all my sister-in-law could do was talk on the phone.

A police car arrived 15 minutes later. I approached the car and asked the Police officer if she knew anything about my son. She nodded and I said goodbye to my sister-in-law. She wanted to take me into a Relatives Room. I realised that the news wasn’t promising but I couldn’t bear the thought of having to wait to hear if my boy was dead or alive, or how hurt he was so I took the bull by the horns and decided to get my worst fear out of the way. I was hoping the answer would be ‘No’ and then we could move on from there so I asked, “Has he died?” She replied, “I’m so sorry.”

I remember backing away from her saying, “No - he can’t have died – he’s only 17 – it’s not possible – it’s too soon.” I was strangely aware of a sensation of almost watching myself. As I was speaking, I was thinking, “Well that’s a stupid thing to say, people die at all ages – age is no protector.” And, “Stop it – you’re frightening her - you sound hysterical.” The Police Officer looked terrified and completely out of her depth so I stopped speaking and walked towards her. I knew one of us had to be in control of the situation and could see that if I lost control, she wouldn’t cope at all.

She nervously suggested I sit in her car. My sister called and asked me what was happening. I didn’t dress it up in any way – I realised there was no way to say it easily so I just said, “Al died.” She said they’d come straight away. I argued, saying that I was aware they’d had a glass or two of wine so it wasn’t safe. However, my cousin and her hubby were there and he was the designated driver so he was able to drive my sister and sister-in-law to the hospital. I told the Police Officer I needed to go to my daughter and that we now needed the Relatives Room. As we walked into A&E, the receptionist who had previously been so sure she knew nothing, leapt up from her desk and rushed to unlock a door to let us into the Relative Room.

We took my daughter in and I told her that Al had been in a bad car accident and that he had died. She cried and I held and rocked her. I didn’t cry. All I could think was that I needed to keep things calm for her. And none of it felt real anyway.