 | I sit here penning this letter as a mother who grieves the loss of my son - my Zane who should be enjoying his birthday celebrations. For me Zane will always be 7, the rest was stolen from him. "20 months since I promised that I would never give up, never get tired or defeated and would fight for the truth for the rest of my life if I must". |
A very dear friend, Suella, sent me a message, which had the advice of an old man on dealing with grief.
'Grief comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s a physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive, although you don’t want too.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on a float. After a while, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall but they are further apart. When they come they still smash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, somehow you will learn to survive. ‘
For us we know there is a huge brutal storm on the horizon. Between the storms of Zane’s death, the endemic dishonesty and myth making of Carbon Monoxide, our fight to finally get the authorities to admit that ONLY Hydrogen Cyanide was found and next, the pending inquest next year.
My goals are tiny; they might be just to get through this letter or to the end of the day as I know that’s one day closer to seeing Zane again. I dream about Zane and in the morning I lose him again as realisation hits. If people did their jobs properly and put just a fraction of the money into testing the landfill as they have in the self-interested power exercised in trying to silence us, you could all sleep in your beds safely.
It has been 20 months since my precious child’s life was stolen from him and 20 months since I promised that I would never give up, never get tired or defeated and would fight for the truth for the rest of my life if I must. We were called ‘hideous’ at the Coroners court by the Council’s barrister. Are two grieving parents seeking the truth about their child’s death really considered hideous? Surely it is those very authorities that should be working tirelessly with us to unearth the source of this toxic chemical, an official weapon of mass destruction in our neigbourhood. Yet no, 20 months on from Zane’s death and I sit here on what should be his 9th birthday, without a death certificate, without answers, without the opportunity to properly grieve for my child and you read this without protection. A pain that is without mercy, a pain that only comes from a love so pure, so strong as shared between Zane and I. We were best friends, completely devoted to one another. The seven years we shared with Zane were the most profound and most significant of our lives.
Never giving up, never giving in.
Zane’s mummy
'Grief comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s a physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive, although you don’t want too.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on a float. After a while, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall but they are further apart. When they come they still smash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, somehow you will learn to survive. ‘
For us we know there is a huge brutal storm on the horizon. Between the storms of Zane’s death, the endemic dishonesty and myth making of Carbon Monoxide, our fight to finally get the authorities to admit that ONLY Hydrogen Cyanide was found and next, the pending inquest next year.
My goals are tiny; they might be just to get through this letter or to the end of the day as I know that’s one day closer to seeing Zane again. I dream about Zane and in the morning I lose him again as realisation hits. If people did their jobs properly and put just a fraction of the money into testing the landfill as they have in the self-interested power exercised in trying to silence us, you could all sleep in your beds safely.
It has been 20 months since my precious child’s life was stolen from him and 20 months since I promised that I would never give up, never get tired or defeated and would fight for the truth for the rest of my life if I must. We were called ‘hideous’ at the Coroners court by the Council’s barrister. Are two grieving parents seeking the truth about their child’s death really considered hideous? Surely it is those very authorities that should be working tirelessly with us to unearth the source of this toxic chemical, an official weapon of mass destruction in our neigbourhood. Yet no, 20 months on from Zane’s death and I sit here on what should be his 9th birthday, without a death certificate, without answers, without the opportunity to properly grieve for my child and you read this without protection. A pain that is without mercy, a pain that only comes from a love so pure, so strong as shared between Zane and I. We were best friends, completely devoted to one another. The seven years we shared with Zane were the most profound and most significant of our lives.
Never giving up, never giving in.
Zane’s mummy
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