Memoirs of a biker widow

Julia Day-Stewart - 18 Feb 18

Memoirs of a biker widow

I lay most nights, listening to the distant roar of a bike travelling on the carriageway. Double glazed windows couldn’t drown out that distinct sound. I close my eyes and shoot back to the evening of the worst day of my life. The day my world came crashing down. The day my soul mate lost his life on his motorbike. That was the day I grew a back bone and lost a part of myself.
That night I sobbed silent tears and listened to the bikes on the carriageway. My heart physically hurting with every beat. The intense pain that gripped my very soul. It hurt and it still hurts.

The worst day of my life.

Having that dull, dread like feeling.. he wasn’t home when he said he’d be home.. so I messaged him a shitty sarcastic message. Bloody boy! He was out having too much fun on his bike and he’d lost track of time!. Oh well.. least he’d be in a good mood for our date night. A rare night off work and without the kids! I really should’ve started getting ready for the cinema but something was stopping me. Where was he?!
A knock at the door and I started down the stairs, I could see a fluorescent jacket through the door… police.. oh for God sake he’s been naughty.. I opened the door and said ‘what’s he done’! Expecting the policeman to reel off a list of traffic violations and that I needed to go and collect him from the station.
‘Can I ask how you know a Robert Stewart’ please.
Oh crap ‘he’s my partner’
‘can I come in’
Er yep I stood back and thought for a moment oh god he must be in real trouble.
‘Robert has been involved in a road traffic accident’
I looked at the policeman frowning. ‘Is he dead?’
‘Yes I’m afraid he is.’
Eh. Frowning. My brain didn’t process the blunt and straight response.
‘What? Really dead?’ Dead dead?
‘yes I’m so sorry he’s dead’.

And that was the conversation. The conversation they tell you that you never forget. I was home alone. 26+6 weeks pregnant. And a policeman, my age, alone, was stood in my lounge telling me my boyfriend was dead. It’s not like On the tele where the nice police lady who accompanies the policeman, sits you down with a box of tissues. Nope just this blue eyed, bald, 30-something nice policeman … who I later build a relationship with as my family liaison officer. Police Cut backs .. they only send one now.
The next few hours are a blur. Who do I call. I look at my phone, first name I see is a friend I know who will take control but won’t piss me off doing it. So I call her, don’t know what I say but she’s then there in my lounge. She takes my phone, others are called.. my mum, friends ..
I decided to call Robs brothers, I don’t know what I said but i think it was rather blunt, they come straight over.
Do I want to go and identify him. Shit well yes I guess I have to. So many questions but everything was a whirlpool. I can’t drive. I can’t smoke I’m pregnant. I can’t drink I’m pregnant. My heart was pounding.

This must be a joke. In a minute someone is going to say ‘gotcha!!!!’ Please someone just tell me it’s all a sick joke. Rob was a joker but this may be a little extreme!

No it wasn’t a joke, I was being lead down a cold Hospital corridor, the long walk. Good god it was far to where we were going. Complete silence took us to ROb. A guy took us there I knew from my youth, I remember The ‘pity look’ he gave me. I’d better get used to that look really. The kind of half frown, shiny eyed half smile look. How ironic I’d practised that look a few times when I’ve had to deal with crappy bereavement situations in my own nursing job.

We get to the room and I’m told I can’t touch him, can’t kiss him as I’ll ‘contaminate’ him. He’s there, laid out, eyes closed looking perfect. Well not too perfect his mouth is droopy and his hair isn’t right, he’s bruised too. It’s MY Rob there. I walk right up to him conscious the blue eyed bald policeman is hovering. Silence. What do I do now. I go to touch him and remember I’m not allowed. What a load of shit, he’s mine of course I can touch him. I reach out and the policeman reminds me softly I’m not allowed. It’s a mistake, he’s sleeping, in a minute he’s going to jump up and say gotcha. I’m can’t be him. It is him. Stupid thoughts run through my brain. Stupid inappropriate crazy thoughts.

What now? I can’t leave him here. On his own? His estranged mother is in her way, he hated her. She can’t see him like this!! He would hate that. Out of my control. I’m completely out of control. I have no power, this is horrible. I am guided out with his brother’s to the corridor. I collapse, I can’t breathe. This is the worst day of my life, my heart hurts I can’t breathe. Our baby kicks me hard in my ribs. Oh my god. This is really happening.

I can’t remember getting home. Saying goodbye to the brothers. Saying goodbye to the policeman.

I’m laying in the dark, in bed. It’s early morning and my eyes are sore, my heart hurts. I am on Rob’s side, listening to my friend heavy breathing next to me. Then there’s another hum of an engine.. another bike in the distance on the duel carriageway.

I hate bikes. I hate today. Silently sobbing so I don’t wake her next to me. Our baby is restless tonight I wonder if she can feel my hurt.

Day 1 was over. The policeman was coming back soon and my older children were too. I start thinking about how I’m going to tell them that Rob is dead. Oh god how am I going to tell them. He’s been in their lives for 3 years and they adore him.

Another motorbike accelerates in the distance, The tears flow again.

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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