Grief is a terrible beast. It can feel all encompassing – like being suffocated by a dark cloud, or it can lull you into a false sense of security, making you feel as if you’re alright until BAM! it hits you at the unlikeliest moment – in the shower, the supermarket or like me, in a doctor’s waiting room. I was dealing with the death of my little friend Ellie when I just lost it, sobbing and shouting at the receptionist who had kept me waiting for over an hour before finally forgetting I was there and sending in others to see the doctor instead of me. Ordinarily this is just something you have to, and can, deal with here, but not on that day.
Ellie was a little bundle of blonde pig-tailed joy – always skipping , laughing and trying to keep up with the boys. She could put away more fish fingers than any toddler I’ve ever known and gave Tyra Banks a run for her money with her pout. She was a delight to be around and always made me smile.
On the eve of her second birthday I was at work, getting ready to go to a seminar when I got the call from Ellie’s mum, telling me to race to her house, grab their passports and come to hospital as fast as I could – Ellie had been in an accident and was dying. When I got to the hospital I stood outside her room whilst the doctors and nurses worked tirelessly to stabilize her for a medivac to the US. They did not stop, they tried everything, bringing her back to this world a number of times, but ultimately she was just too broken. She never had a chance, but that didn’t stop the hospital doing everything they possibly could.
Ellie’s death affected the whole community. The unthinkable had happened. We had lost a bright shining star.
Initially I was able to throw myself into helping Ellie’s family – organising food, helping with the memorial, being a liaison between the family and the island. The sense of community, love and support was overwhelming and it solidified my belief that this is where I should be. Then it all came crashing down and suddenly I felt I couldn’t deal with things in the way I always had done. Luckily I have an incredible husband, children, family and friends, and with their support and that of an amazing counsellor I got through it. Then I started to run – to clear my head, to let me work out all the tension. It helped. I could cry, scream or laugh as I ran and no one would care (or see me as I was running in the dark!). It was time for me
Ellie’s mum and dad have started an amazing charity called Ellie’s Wish to raise funds to buy equipment for the pediatric department of our hospital. It’s such a small hospital with a dedicated staff, but it lacks equipment.
When I was 4 years old I fell off my bike, fractured my skull and was in a coma. I survived, but I was in a large city with a big modern hospital. I can’t imagine what my parents went through, but I was lucky – I had access to everything the doctors needed to save my life. No parent should ever have to think ‘What if?’ What if they had that equipment? What if we had been somewhere else? That’s why Ellie’s Wish is so important, to help give every child a fighting chance during their darkest hours.
So when I attempt to conquer ‘the Beast’ aka the Virgin Gorda half marathon, I shall be running for Ellie and for me. If you can, please do donate – every cent will help make the lives of little humans more comfortable – https://www.justgiving.com/crowdfunding/CatandSJarerunningtheVGhalf