When I died I heard my daughter Isabelle who was then aged 16 Years not crying. I heard my Schnauzers Hector and Heidi barking. They were yards away. But I was dying. I knew I was dying because the blood pouring from my head would surely not allow anyone to live. How can such profuse blood loss allow survival? That river of blood was visible days after I died!
When I was dying it was horrible. I knew I was dying and all I could think about was how my daughter and husband would have to tell my mum and dad how I died. Beaten up in a street on Friday evening. How degrading. No heroic death for me. I survived cancer; failed at dying of that despite cervical, tumour in the womb and dodgy stuff on the ovaries! Total hysterectomy aged 30! Piece of piss!
Dying on that street was worse than chemo! Dying on that street was degrading, humiliating. I wanted to hold my daughter, but I was dying and she was running home for an ambulance even though they threatened to kill her if she did. She did it though!
So I continued to die, slowly and painfully and then my hand could no longer hold my head that split open. The blood gushed and I knew no-one survives this much loss. The fading, the barking, the sadness, the unconscious! That’s when I died.
Then all of a sudden, flashing lights, sirens, I was in an ambulance with a policeman and paramedics. I lost it again. Woke up once more and was in hospital.
When they told me they couldn’t stitch my head up I kept thinking, ‘I died’. The paramedics and police told my daughter I died. Isabelle told them on the phone I had died! I was killed! Murdered! I died!
They glued my head! They put me back together! But the mental scars were yet to rear their ugly head.
I had dared to walk down the road one evening with my then 16-year-old daughter. We were attacked. I still look back and wonder why! It was one of those attacks one reads about and gets a little suspicious and thinks, ‘there must be something more to this one’. But there wasnt! A random bunch of bastard chavs beat the holy crap out of us for no reason other than that they could and this happens daily! People just like me die and for no reason other than people can kill.
I was released from hospital the next day with a battered body and smashed up face that they assured me was actually me! So then the police part began. Cheshire Constabulary were most kind and considerate and the police officers were fantastic and visited me daily.
Stupidly I returned to work after a week despite advice not to. I didn’t cope. I so hate and regret that morning I woke early and instead of going to work I packed a bag and my Mandolin and just walked to Crewe railway station. I saw a train to Birmingham, got on it! I landed at Birmingham, had a cigarette and a coffee and looked at the departure boards for the next train. Aberystwyth! Checked into a B&B and went to sleep! I awoke a few hours later to a barrage of calls mainly from the police officer, my family and some work colleagues. I didn’t care a bugger! In my mind I was dead.
I couldn’t live with the fact these bastards who beat us up took away from me my ability as a mother and protector, to protect my girl. I had tried to fight them off her. They started at her first when we walked down that god forsaken street. I tried to pull them off her and I told her to run. She wouldn’t leave me and we both got a hammering!
I sat in a cute little old pub in Wales. I read my text messages with tears streaming down my face but still I’d gone too far. I couldn’t reply, I couldn’t go home. I’d been stripped down to nothing; I was a crap mother, a useless human, so degraded there was no point in me!
I had enough drinks to make it bearable and hopefully forgettable. It was a beautiful stormy night and the waves were crashing and thundering. I walked out and looked into the sea and the swirling ocean and begged it could take me and as I walked I was reminded of my fight or flight responses! I am a strong swimmer with lifesaving awards, a porridge of West Wales gusts wouldn’t do this job! I lit a cigarette to ponder this and all of a sudden a huge wave enveloped me and soaked my fag. Under normal circumstances I’d have been well pissed off! This made me laugh and I realised God doesn’t want this! I hadn’t actually laughed for a long time and it was strange hearing myself laugh and that induced even more hilarity!
I returned to my room and played my Mandolin and I have little recollection of what happened next. I was on the phone to my Police lady the next day and she’d arranged to pick me up in Shrewsbury. I got to Crewe though alone and she met me later.
Weeks went by and that fantastic copper got the bastards and we had the joy of Crown Court! Isabelle and I were taken around Chester Crown Courts to familiarise ourselves.Chester Crown Courts are proper Rumpole of The Bailey stuff! It was so comforting (not) to be told these are the court rooms where Myra Hindley and Ian Brady were! Cheers for that!
The gang was found guilty and sentenced in Liverpool and my family and I went to see and hear that! End of!
So when I died, I didn’t sleep, I couldn’t function and my doctor prescribed me nutty pills; Citalapram. They really did my head in and I let myself and my girl down more than ever.
This was five years ago now, but I will never forget when I died. I will never and can not forgive them for what I felt. Hearing my daughters 999 call telling them her mum was dead was haunting. Feeling that blood pour out of my head, I died, but I now know I was simply losing consciousness.
The most heartbreaking of all was walking into my mum and dad’s house the day after the attack , battered etc, and seeing their faces. No one brings anyone up in this world to be battered and abused.
I don’t do Christian forgiveness. Sorry if I offend, but to all who condone reckless random violence, I hope you rot in eternal torment! I died and a 16-year-old girl saw her mother die. How do we as a society get over that one?!