Memoirs of a biker widow (2)

Julia Day-Stewart - 19 Feb 18

Telling the children

The distant hum of a motorbike is replaced with the tweeting of birds and daylight streaming through the curtains.

My eyes hurt, the tears start again. I feel sick. The baby is very quiet, I poke her and feel a shuffle, she’s ok. Thank god.

My friend stirs next to me, did I get any sleep? No not really. My eyes hurt
We go down stairs and a cup of tea is put in my hands. She makes amazing tea. Why does a hot drink seem such a prominent thing to make in a crisis.
But it works. I need tea.

I catch myself in the mirror, good god my face is swollen, my lashes are still there. They have taken a battering.

There is a knock at the door. That fluorescent jacket again. Oh god not again. It’s my policeman. Why is he back?
I invite him in and apologise for the state of myself, I instantly like this guy, he has a nice face and is straight talking but kind.
I have to be told some details of the crash.

I need these details, I need to know everything he knows. Is Rob still dead? Yes of course he is. Stupid thoughts again.
I’m given paperwork. My first introduction to BRAKE. A charity that helps families of people killed on the road.
Oh my god I’m one of those. I’m one of those people I read about, see on TV. This is really happening to us.
He gives me a workbook for the children. They will be back soon from their dads. How do I tell them. ROb wasn’t their dad but he’s the next best thing, they adored each other.
He taught my daughter to ride her bike and tie her laces, they were thick as thieves. He was my sons mate, someone to look up to. They played football and he taught my son how to be awesome at stuff. Important boy stuff! Like shooting games and rowing boats and stuff.
How do I tell my children?

My son cried on and off for a whole year when his hamster died once. I’d walk past his bedroom and hear him sniffing after thinking about his beloved rodent. How is he going to react to this? This isn’t a Hamster! This is a human, a super important human that shouldn’t die.
I feel sick. I haven’t eaten today but I’ve drunk enough tea, I really need to eat something for the baby. I feel really weak.
The front door goes, my stomachs goes. This is it.
My friend goes outside to speak to the ex and shuts the door, the kids walk in and look at me funny. Probably looking at my swollen face and wondering what has happened. They aren’t stupid, they pick up instantly something is wrong so I sit them both on the sofa.
‘Guys I’ve got something to tell you and it’s really sad’
I figured I’d just hit them with it, no messing about and then let them ask questions.
My son looks at me with sad eyes and asks if the rabbit has died. My heart sinks.
We lost one of our rabbits the week before.
‘No sweetie it’s Rob he’s been in an accident on his motorbike and he’s died. He’s not coming back’
That’s it. I’ve done it. I wait for the words to sink in.
My daughter screams and bursts into tears. My son has no reaction.
A very surreal moment happens and I repeat what I just said in case he didn’t quite understand. He simply says ‘ok’ and gets off the sofa to turn the Xbox on.
I sit holding my sobbing daughter and watch my son. He calmly switches on the console and starts to play his game then looks at me and back to the tv quite expressionless. I don’t really know what to say or do and so it continues like this for the rest of the afternoon.

My phone constantly beeping with messages. Word has gotten round, not surprising really.. all the neighbours knew from the police car sat on the drive all day… my friends and colleagues letting people know…
I briefly scan messages but don’t really respond to any. What can I say.
It’s nice to be thought of but I don’t know what to say.

The front door goes. Flowers. That’s nice. I’ve never been much of a flower person but found my one and only vase to put them in.
More phone activity and front door knocking. I give up answering it and leave it to my friend to answer. Every time I see that pity look it makes my heart break and the tears start again.
My son is very quiet. I ask him if he’s ok and give him a cuddle.
My daughter will not leave my side.

Evening comes and that’s when it happened. My son got angry with something and shouted at me. He totally loses the plot and now the tears start.
‘I’ve been trying to hold it in and be brave mum’
My heart breaks again. It hurts. Physically hurts.
We get on the snuggle couch and all three of use cuddle so tightly. I’m so sorry this has happened I hear myself saying to them.
‘I don’t want you to die’ they both say to me and that’s when I swore to them that I’d never die. I swore to them I’d live forever because at that time I had to. They were destroyed and hurting and I had to reassure them and tell them this ridiculous whopping great lie.

They both slept in my bed that night and for many more nights after.
That was the day they will remember forever.

My son whispered to me in bed that night ‘Mum I’m never getting a motorbike. Ever’

‘Good’

I hate bikes.

Julia Day-Stewart

Mum of three. Widow at 35years of age. Mother, Nurse, Realist. Broken but surviving. Lost and drowning but floating in the light of the moon. Amazed by the power of love and the strength of human compassion. I am no writer, I barely scraped past my gcses. So excuse the appalling grammar. I lost my soul mate in 2017 whilst pregnant with his first child (now aged 7 Months). One moment, one poor decision and so many lives destroyed. I decided to start a blog. Firstly to empty my head and help with my own PTSD and secondly to try and help others. Grief can be very lonely and physically destructive.

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