The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1521 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Only those who’ve lost a child can know the pain it causes, something deep inside you dies leaving a gaping wound through which your very soul seems to be exposed and damaged.

The children were bewildered. How could one of them go out with their most trusted adult, all fit and healthy one minute–be dead the next? They knew people died, they just didn’t expect one of them to do so. I knew that feeling so well, and in between giving them lots of cuddles and reassurance, I kept thinking, if only...

If only we hadn’t gone out on the bikes that day, or if only we’d stayed away from Portsdown hill. If only it had been me that died, not one of my children. If only...

Tom took himself off to his study, unable to face anyone–he still avoided me unless there were others about. I guess he didn’t know what to say, or that he was so upset because he’d already buried all those he’d once loved and hoped that as a grandfather he be spared doing it again. Life can be so cruel.

The RAC man, John Burnett, was such a help–because he saw it happen–his statement meant that mine was more or less a formality. The driver of the car which had beeped at her was found from John’s description and the driver prosecuted for driving without due care and attention. I don’t think they directly caused the accident anymore than my taking her to Portsdown hill did, they were simply factors all of which contributed to her death.

The children wanted to say their goodbyes, and we had a very tearful time at the funeral director's, they each hugged and kissed her and left a rosebud in the coffin. I was so upset that they called the ambulance–I passed out again–don’t know why–probably some hysterical reason.

Simon was wonderful throughout that week–the one between Billie’s death and her funeral at the crematorium. He helped with the children, he comforted them and entertained them. Stella was good as well, she and Jenny, who were both upset by our loss, soldiered on in the house as I did very little except sit around and feel completely empty.

At one point I was going to saw all the bikes into pieces–I’d got as far as finding a large hacksaw, when Simon spotted me and dragged me screeching from the bike store and confiscated the keys, which he hid.

Another day they found me curled up in Billie’s bed holding the pyjamas she’d worn the night before she died. Anne Thomas came and saw me twice and gave me sedation, which made me even more sluggish than my grief.

We had a mountain of cards, I think every girl in the school sent us one, and most of the nuns had also signed one. We had a visit from Sister Maria, although I was too upset that day to see her. Simon dealt with her.

I wasn’t sleeping at night, so during the day I was nodding off every time I sat down, Trish was marvellous, she stayed with me virtually all day, every day. Unlike her usual self, she remained quiet and observant–she was in fact watching me like a hawk–I learned afterwards that she was terrified I would die as well–she thought I looked so ill. That was probably not helped by the fact that I wasn’t eating–I couldn’t face food–I just felt sick all the time. Even the mention of it made me feel nauseous.

The funeral was a bit of problem too. As an agnostic, the last thing I wanted was the religious stuff which I thought disguised or distracted from the death of the individual. I certainly couldn’t go with the life after death stuff or the resurrection that comes with standard Christian fare. However, Billie was a believer in Jesus, so reluctantly I agreed that Sister Maria could perform a few prayers, otherwise it was going to be a non-religious ceremony.

When I informed Nora Cunningham–well Simon did actually, she came to see me the next day and asked if she could say a few words at the funeral. I agreed, although I decided I would do the eulogy myself–it was the only thing I could do now for my little girl.

Simon had registered the death. He had problems with the registrar because she’d not been living as a girl long enough to change her birth registration. He pleaded with the registrar, who gave him the death certificate spelled the way we’d changed her name, and he also allowed her to be registered as a girl. I don’t know how Simon managed it, but I copied one of the certificates and burned it at the top of the garden–letting her know that although she wasn’t a perfect as she wanted, she’d died a girl.

Trish asked me what I was doing when I set fire to the copy of the death certificate, and I told her I was sending it to Billie, she then asked if she could send her a note as well, in the end we had a whole box of paper to burn from all the children.

The day of the funeral, Stella had all the children decked out in school uniforms, looking as nice as nine pence. Simon and Tom wore dark suits and black ties, I wore a black suit with a white blouse, Stella, a navy dress and coat and Jenny a pair of dark trousers with a green tunic thing over the top.

We followed the coffin into the crematorium, Simon and I, surrounded by the rest of the children, who were bewildered by all those who’d come to say goodbye to her. The place was full of children, virtually the whole school had turned out. At the back I noticed John Burnett, the RAC man, standing discreetly behind the girls–such a nice man.

We entered the chapel to music from the film, Nanny McPhee which was Billie’s favourite movie. Tom acted as master of ceremonies, and asked us all to sit. He reminded us why we were there, to celebrate the short life of Billie King, and although it was time of great sadness and unfulfilled potential, she was much loved and missed.

Sister Maria read a short poem by Christina Rosetti, we sat in reflection for a few minutes, then Nora addressed the congregation.

“This won’t take long,” she said. “I knew Billie when she was quite young and very unhappy. She had been abused as a young child and with an inadequate mother who wasn’t capable of caring for her properly, she ended up in a children’s home–I was the manager–so I got to know her as well as anyone could in those days.

“We left her with another child at the home of Simon and Cathy Cameron for one Christmas. Apart from the fact that they were spoiled rotten, they loved it with the Camerons, and finally they were both fostered and then adopted by Simon and Cathy.

“Although she was with you just a couple of years before this tragic accident, I know that this time was the happiest in her short life. I know this because she told me. For the first time in her life she was truly loved by all in a family and she in turn loved them. For that, on her behalf I thank you all.”

Simon helped me to the front of the chapel, where I held myself up against the table they had there. I glanced at the notes I had. I couldn’t see them for tears and I began to think that just as I’d failed her that day, I was going to fail her again. I felt angry with myself and the adrenaline began to flow. I took a huge breath and dumped my notes on the table. I’d do this off the cuff, or from the heart.

“Thank you all for coming to celebrate this, the life of my adopted daughter, Billie. As a very polite little girl, she’d have thanked you all herself personally, but owing to time constraints, I can’t do that.

“Even though it was short life, I could talk about her exploits for the next few hours, but you’ll be relieved to hear I won’t. She came to us on a temporary basis and never left–until now that is. She brought her love and her troubles, none of which were so bad that we couldn’t help her to cope with them and she was really enjoying herself at her new school, where she fitted in very well thanks to Sister Maria, her various teachers and of course her friends and classmates.

“Whatever, else I say, I think Billie was happy until that last few moments when the accident happened. She loved her cycling and therefore I must conclude she died doing something she loved–can any of us ask for anymore from life? I am assured that her death was very quick and painless, for which I am grateful.

“I feel sad for her loss and for the potential she will never now achieve. As her adoptive mother, I will miss her for the rest of my life, because that’s what parents do–feel for their children all their lives. I’m saddened because she will never have the joy of educational achievement, of finding a satisfying career, of developing relationships and perhaps one special one. She will never know the joy of being a parent–or its sadness and pain.

“I’ve come here to publicly say farewell to my daughter, Billie, and also to tell her that she will live in my heart as long as it beats, and although we say adieu I will remember her as long as I live and with love.

“I thank you for the love you brought into our lives, goodbye sweetheart.” Simon helped me back to my seat where I sobbed into a handkerchief and was comforted by Mima.

Sister Maria asked us to pray and said a few prayers. Then to my astonishment and on reflection, delight, she had the school choir sing Faure’s In Paradisum, which was amazing.

As they finished the curtain came across and I don’t remember much after that.