The Day That Changed Our Life Forever
On 15 March 2013 at 5:45 pm, our entire world shattered into a million pieces. Everything that felt safe, comfortable, normal, disintegrated into dust. You see, our precious daughter Hannah Jean was killed instantly in a horrific head-on collision. She was 19 years, 2 months and 27 days old. I was at work in my role as a nurse, a vocation I adore. Busy with the medication round, I was oblivious to the fact my middle child was lying in her car, covered in a blanket, lifeless. My work phone rang incessantly. I looked up to see an RN, my direct supervisor, Bonnie, running up the corridor towards me. Breathless, she handed me her phone. ‘It’s the police.’ They told me to come home immediately. I asked ‘Why’ repeatedly, but was told they were not permitted to tell me over the phone. Dropping the phone, I screamed loudly. I knew.
Climbing out of the car, I faced an unsettling scene. My youngest daughter Amy was on the lawn. Tears stained her flushed face; her screams echoed in the still night air. The young police officer placed his hand gently on my arm and guided me inside. Amy followed, her enormous soulful eyes told me everything. My heart sank. ‘I am very sorry, Mrs. McMurtrie. Your daughter Hannah died in a head-on collision on Gloucester Road at 5.45 pm this evening,’ the officer explained. My knees gave out. The two policemen helped me to my lounge chair. I squealed continually, ‘NO, NO, NO. NO. NO!’
The Grief Was Unbearable
At that moment something happens to your body and your mind. My mind shut out every voice, every noise, every shadow and every piece of light. Any semblance of vision or focus disappeared. It was as though my body was cocooned in a bubble of light. Nothing and no one could reach me. My stomach churn. I was breathless, clammy, dizzy, and faint. ‘Graeme! What about my husband?’ I shrieked. Then I recalled my eldest child Todd, also at work. Within minutes Graeme pulled into the driveway. As he walked through the door, his face crumpled; he placed his hands on his face and yelped. The burst of tears, a torrent. Shattered.
Todd arrived with his partner Alira. I just couldn’t look at him; the wails coming from his body. These memories are forever etched in my memory. Before leaving to go to the hospital, I asked all present, including the police officers, if they were comfortable to pray. Everyone nodded and we bowed our heads. I thanked my heavenly father for the gift of Hannah. For the privilege of allowing us to be her family. Asking Him to take care of our girl and guide her home.
Entering the hospital room where Hannah lay was horrendous. As I stood behind my children, I watched them crumble, screaming and crying in disbelief in front of me. The pain my family experienced in that room, that night, will stay with me forever. That image of my deceased child was pure hell. The moments we spent in that room are deeply painful and private. Needless to say, my children, including Hannah’s partner were all forced to grow up extremely quickly that night. When the children left, Graeme and I took a side each. Sitting on a chair beside my beloved girl, I stroked her hair and kissed her soft, but cold cheek. Then I sang to her, the song I always sang to each of my babies when they were sick, sad or distressed. ‘You Are My Sunshine’.
Everything Was a Blur – Frozen in Time
Much of that day’s events are cloudy. Perhaps that is the body’s way of protecting us from something so unimaginable. I liken that week to a film clip where you see people buzzing past in a blur while one person stands completely still, frozen to that place and time, unable to move a muscle. I had no concept of time, place, date, reality. No sensation of thirst, hunger, fatigue. Like the person standing still in the film clip, you just are. I recall craving my mother, so frantically. Yearning desperately for her love, support and wisdom. Unfortunately, Mum died when I was only twenty years old. While I needed her, I consoled myself with the fact she was with her granddaughter, guiding her home.
My extended family were simply not there for me, retreating inwardly into their own guilt. This happens in every family. We hold these unachievable expectations that somehow when a tragedy occurs, family will bond together. In many cases, the opposite is true. On the Sunday after Hannah’s accident, we had to go to the funeral home. We have known the Becker family personally for more than twenty years, and they were amazingly compassionate but we resented being there, having to choose what coffin, flowers, music, which church?
Due to the circumstances surrounding the accident, it was a coroner’s case. My baby would be transported to Newcastle with police escort, examined by the state coroner, and then returned to the funeral home. For this reason, we were advised to book the celebration of Hannah’s life for the Friday, a week after Hannah’s tragic passing. That day it was boiling hot. There were more than 800 people at Hannah’s funeral. Watching my husband carry Hannah’s white coffin out of the church, broke me. “This is not how a Father should walk his beloved daughter down the aisle”! The day left is all depleted. Shattered. The crowds left, the house quiet. How do you pick up the pieces and create a new “Normal”? Slowly. Very, very slowly.
The Road to Justice
As we were somehow attempting to lift our feet, the crash investigators learned the driver of the other vehicle involved in the collision had been charged with ‘negligent driving occasion involving death’ and ‘dangerous driving occasioning death’ and that the driver intended to fight the charges. This would mean a long, painful court process. Whatever the outcome, it was never going to bring my baby girl home. We doubted we had the strength to face this reality. Each time we walked in that courtroom, we were taken back to “that moment”.
Our son Todd, Graeme and I attended every brief, for mention, committal and trial. Our daughter Amy didn’t attend. She was too broken. The reality too confronting. The trial was by judge, not a jury. After a week, we waited for the verdict the following Thursday. I recall walking in to the court. Watching the defendant hug her mother and smiling. Her supporters were cheering and high fiving. Confused we sat on the other side of the courtroom. After a two hour deliberation the Hugh’s asked the defendant to stand. She stood and looked across the courtroom. Our eyes locked. The defendant laughed at me. The judge stated “Not guilty”. The court erupted. My legs gave out as I wailed. “She killed my baby”!
Our family and supporters went to the crash site and released balloons. This release was letting go and acceptance. Handing over this heavy burden of guilt to the driver. The truth is, Not guilty doesn’t mean innocent.
Carrying Hannah’s Loving Legacy
Graeme and I established Hannah’s Blue Butterflies Road Safety Awareness, in August 2022. We commenced our Road Safety message on Facebook, with one follower. Our daughter Amy. Now, we have 8,000 followers around the world. Our reach is huge. We are a registered Not For Profit Organization, with an extraordinary team of five. All working together to raise Road Safety Awareness.
Our work is multi dimensional. From school and public talks, Traffic Offenders presentations, Early Childhood Education and presentations to grief and court support. Diane and Graeme have partnered with NSW Department of Road Safety as Towards Zero Ambassador’s. The work is full time. Constant. Challenging. Rewarding. Eleven years on from that fateful night, our family is not the same. Nor should it be. Our darling Hannah isn’t here. We have learned that grief and joy can rest comfortably side by side. Peace, love and gratitude fill our hearts daily. Life is beautiful. Every single day is a gift.
We encourage you to become a follower for the “Movement for Change” on facebook and instagram.
For more information please visit: www.hannahsbluebutterflies.org.
We thank Diane for becoming a member of the Crash Support Network and for sharing her story with us.
This article is also featured in our 2024 Fall Issue of Sharing our Recovery.
The Crash Support Network is a unique one-of-a-kind website consisting of an online support group, a crash survivor blog, a quarterly newsletter, “Sharing Our Recovery” as well as highly informative articles. Our website is based on relationship-building and puts the needs of survivors first by creating a helpful resource for victims and survivors of motor vehicle crashes.
