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Eleven - Monday 24th March 2003

Monday 24th March was an ordinary morning; I went into Shrewsbury to do some coaching for a local company, and got back the photos from my parents’ Golden Wedding celebrations along with a few birthday cards. I went to see the nurse at the doctor’s surgery to have the dressing changed on my leg wound as a result of the dog bite, and was late, having got held up in a traffic queue. The last thing I said to the nurse was I would definitely be on time on Friday. Edward was at school and John was at home working.

In the afternoon, I did my usual drive to Gobowen for a piano lesson with the teacher to whom I have been going for years, whose patience with her fumbling pupils never ceases to amaze me. I left there just after 4pm as usual to drive to Oswestry School to pick up Edward and take him back to Gobowen for his piano lesson. Sometimes I go shopping while Edward has his lesson, but on this particular day I had taken some magazines to read in the car while I waited, which is where I was when the mobile phone rang.

It was John. I remember hearing his shaking voice and asking him if he was alright. His response was ‘not really’. He asked me if I was sitting down. My first thought was that something had happened to my Dad, but he continued that he had received a call from the Greater Manchester Police to say that Jonathan had been involved in a road accident and had been taken to the Royal Manchester Infirmary. His condition was described as poorly. My heart sank and I started to cry. John said he would ring On-in and ring me back as soon as he knew any more.

I composed myself and decided that even though Edward’s piano lesson was nearly over, I must go in and get him and that we should go straight home. I went into the room and as I started to speak could clearly see the anxiety and panic in my voice being reflected back to me in the look on Edward’s face. I said we must go, as we would almost certainly be going to Manchester, and Edward drove me home.

When we got home, John had spoken to the police again and been told that Jonathan had serious head and chest injuries – we stood in the kitchen hugging each other and crying. We made a couple of phone calls cancelling arrangements, threw a few things into a bag for an overnight stay, got a drink and decided all three of us should head for Manchester immediately. The last thing I picked up were the photos of my parents’ Golden Wedding, thinking that seeing those might help Jonathan recover.

I didn’t know what to think on the drive to Manchester; I had visions of seeing Jonathan wired up to machines, of frequent visits to Manchester, of him being brain damaged, of him being pushed round in a wheel chair and that he was dead. The police rang not long after we had set off and said we should go to the police station first and a police officer would escort us to the hospital, then a little while later we had another call saying they didn’t want us to get lost going to the police station, to go straight to the hospital and that the police officer would be there to meet us. As I became increasingly anxious, so John kept trying to reassure me. He said he was trying to send Jonathan all his love and strength, and I tried to do the same but it was so difficult.

Ever the practical person, I asked John to stop at the Shell garage on the way in to Manchester to use the toilet, as I knew that once I got to the hospital my only concern would be Jonathan. We drove round the corner and pulled up at the Accident and Emergency Department just before 8 o clock in the evening, not really knowing what to expect.

We walked up to the reception, and announced our arrival. We were asked to wait. A nurse came and asked us to follow her to a side room. On the way we passed On-in, and Jonathan’s friends Roger and Vincent, who said nothing, but who were clearly totally distressed. We went into the room and closed the door. I will never forget the first few words the nurse used, which I knew immediately could have no other ending. “There is no easy way to tell you this ….”

My mind was a blur of disbelief, of sobbing, of saying ‘No God No’, of hugging John and Edward; of thinking this is a nightmare it can’t really be happening. The emotional pain unleashed was indescribable.
The nurse told us that Jonathan’s neck was broken and the spinal cord had been completely severed. There was no way that he could have survived, even though he had been kept alive technically until shortly before we arrived.

By now the police bereavement officer Stuart had joined us and from him and the nurse we started to get an idea of exactly what had happened. Jonathan was using the pelican crossing on Oxford Road, a busy main road into Manchester, near his student flat. A bus had pulled up at the pelican crossing and there was another bus in front at the bus stop. With the green man lit, Jonathan crossed the road between the two buses. A car came speeding past the bus, through the red lights, hit him and drove off. Oxford Road is a busy road, there were already twenty-five witnesses, and the police were looking for a black Honda Prelude. I felt totally numb.

On-in, Roger and Vincent came into the room and shared the pain. On-in loved Jonathan so much it was heartbreaking.

We could hardly believe the nature of Jonathan’s death. John has two sisters, Jean whose stepdaughter was killed by a hit and run driver, and Ann whose son Graham was killed in a road accident at the age of 17. Jonathan was born three years later and was named Jonathan Graham after him.

The nurse came and asked if we would like to see Jonathan. Edward said he would rather remember Jonathan as he was, but On-in wanted to see him. I had never seen a dead person before and didn’t know how I would cope with seeing my own son, but my overwhelming thought was to support On-in. We all followed the nurse through casualty, Edward waited outside and we took turns with each other to see Jonathan. John and I held hands across him and cried as we struggled to say The Lord’s Prayer with him.

Jonathan had a cut on his head, but apart from that he looked to be asleep, just as he did when he was a little boy and I used to go and check on him before going to bed. There was no fear, no anguish, just peace.

Over the next few hours we went to see him several times. Each time we saw him the terrible truth pierced our disbelief that this had happened and could not be changed. While I stood with On-in looking at Jonathan, I said to her I felt that I had lost my son but I had gained a daughter, and I asked her if she would like to be part of our family. I said if she liked she could call me Mum, and she said she would. I knew that Jonathan loved On-in so much that in his absence he would want us to care for her. The significance of this conversation was not revealed to me until two days later.

While we looked at Jonathan I asked On-in what she thought Jonathan might say to her. She said, ‘I love you’. I asked her what message he might send. She said, ‘Be happy’.

Stuart and the nurse helped us share the pain and did everything they could to support us. We were given two books to look at when we were ready – “When Someone Dies” which had all the contact numbers that we might need, and a Home Office book - “Advice for Bereaved Families and Friends Following a Death on the Road” which explained the criminal side of things.

We started to think about what to do next.

We needed somewhere to stay for the night and decided that the best thing would be to all book into a family room, and for Edward and On-in, John and I to spend the night together. By now it was 10pm and despite Stuart’s numerous phone calls, the best option was a double and a twin room at the Travel Inn in the centre of Manchester.

We thought about the devastation we were about to bring to Mum and Dad and our family. We couldn’t just make a phone call and we didn’t want the police to go round to their homes. In the end we decided that the person to whom we would pass this dreadful responsibility, was my sister Pat’s husband, Mark. Initially we tried to ring that evening but couldn’t get through, so in the end decided to ring first thing on Tuesday morning.

We didn’t know what Jonathan’s student room-mates knew, and so rang them and said we would call round to Wilmslow Park on the way to the Travel Inn. We left the hospital at about 11 o’clock having lived through the most traumatic six hours of our lives, and I knew even then that we had only just started the ride on what would be the biggest emotional rollercoaster we had ever been on.

It was a short drive to Jonathan’s flat, and when we arrived it was clear the flatmates already knew that Jonathan had died. Very few words were exchanged; it was more hugs and tears.

We got to the Travel Inn and were relieved to find that our double and twin rooms were adjoining. Although we had been supplied with water and tea at the hospital we were all thirsty, and stood alone in the hotel bar at midnight, drinking lemonade before finding our rooms.

We were all so tired, physically, emotionally and mentally, that it was a relief to get to our bedrooms and lie down. Life would never be the same without Jonathan, and I dreaded the agonies that were to come as our personal tragedy became family’s, friends’ and public knowledge. I don’t know if I went to sleep, all I can remember is the next five hours were a mixture of laying on the bed, going to the bathroom, hugging John, crying and thinking. Despite the overwhelming sadness, I started to think that the only way forward was to celebrate Jonathan’s life.

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