Every time I hear of another death on our roads my heart stings a bit, thinking of those families at the start of their journey. I read a lot about grief, but not a lot is spoken about the experience of dealing with an unexpected death involving road trauma, and the extra bureaucracy and admin it involves – how much more intrusive it feels to a medically-expected death, and how much power you lose.
For me, in the space of a few hours, my Friday night went from pulling a pasta bake out of the oven to signing a consent form to dispose of my loved one’s clothes and being handed a brochure titled When a Person Dies Suddenly. If you’ve not been in the situation yourself, I imagine you weren’t aware that such a publication existed. It was almost comical how important me being given this brochure was to the police (once they had found a copy) – and they had to time stamp when I’d been given it. And I do understand the reasons why, but the absurdity of waiting around for someone to give you a brochure while your world implodes is beyond belief. Just send me an email so I can get on with things!
In a road crash or other unexpected circumstances, your loved one essentially becomes property of the state – I don’t know the legality of that, but it is certainly how it feels. I was on the scene when emergency services were working on my partner Tony. I could see them doing CPR by torchlight in the distance, and couldn’t hear a helicopter arriving – I knew things were bad. I found out when the person who called 000 had found him, Tony didn’t have a pulse. But it is St John policy to always attempt a revival, and I understand that. But I was there – his next of kin and nobody asked if that’s what I wanted. It would have been a definite no, and I would have been spared the hellish limbo of waiting to be told the inevitable.
I repeatedly asked the police officer who I was with if I could go to him, but was told no. I asked again once I’d been told he had died, and was told no. Logically, I get why – he had head trauma, they don’t know how people are going to react in these situations, they also don’t want to contaminate the investigation site…but still. I would have liked the chance to hold his hand one last time while it was still warm. I would like to have been trusted that I know myself enough, even in this new and devastating scenario, to keep it together. When I asked where they would take him that night, I got two different answers – so I just had to be driven away from the site, not allowed to see him, or even be sure of where he would end up.
This is just the start of the long process of your loved one being a Coroner’s Case. Questions and statements and phone calls while the police do their job. That night, I had just ripped my kids’ world apart and finally got them settled and asleep and was drifting off myself when someone from the major crash team phoned me at 11.44pm – a miscommunication had him under the impression I wanted to hear from him that night with whatever information they’d managed to gather. I said, “Unless you are ringing to tell me he’s not dead, it can wait till tomorrow.”
This pattern continued – the terrible timing of phone calls with more news. I would just feel like my head was above water, and then the phone would ring with “Coroner’s Court” flashing on the caller ID – I’d take a deep breath and get ready to go back under. Or I would have a genuinely lovely day catching up with friends in the sunshine (joy can coexist with grief), then the phone call would come to say they’d finished inspecting the motorbike, did I want to pick it up or have it destroyed? Back to reality…
You also feel a little like both yourself and your dead loved one are under interrogation – you have to give statements, provide medical records…again, none of this is throwing shade on our police – everyone I dealt with personally was fantastic and did nothing wrong, but you can’t escape these overarching issues. And unfortunately, in these circumstances it’s not just the police who have questions – everyone wants to know what happened! Were they speeding? Did they have a helmet on? Where were they going? Why were they alone? Not all questions I was asked, but ones I know have been asked of others. And as natural as it is to seek answers, it is understandable to be defensive. For me, none of that mattered – answers didn’t change the fact that he was dead.
Unfortunately, many in our community have faced the challenges I’ve described, and I hope it brings some comfort to know that you’re not alone. The absurdity of it all is something I understand. And if you’re supporting someone grieving a death that ends up involving multiple government agencies, it is good to be aware that in addition to all of the usual feelings, they are navigating this extra, complex layer. Offer to be with them when they need to talk to police officers, or take the kids and dog out for a walk so they can concentrate. If they want you to, be their secretary and screen those private numbers (it will either be the police, or scammers), or bring them some water or a cup of tea when on the phone – my mouth would instantly be devoid of moisture the moment I spoke to anyone in uniform! The process is a long one, it can be years before a Coroner’s Report is finalised, and each step is like knocking the top off a wound that had just started to heal. Keep checking in with them.
