Day 1 – The day and night of his death.

I wrote these entries on 12 March 2002 about looking back on the days that followed my brother’s death. Please read them in day order…

I made my way to the hospital with my father who I hadn’t spoken to forever. I had been told I would be met there by a social worker and the police. They wouldn’t tell me anything over the phone. The only thing I took with me was my black dress. I knew deep down I would need it soon.

Dave, my brother Marty’s best friend was the first to hear. The police had found his phone number in my brother’s wallet. He called my mum to tell her that “Marty has been in an accident”. I don’t know his story. I just know that he has never been the same time since.

My mum walked up the hallway of the hospital. Two policemen, a man and a woman met her. The male said: "Mrs. W, when your son died…"

My mother interrupted, "What did you say?"

The young policewoman cried as she realised that my mother had not been previously told the news.

My dad sat behind the steering wheel of the car. He strained to look out of the passenger side window, to overhear my cousin Justin say these words to me, "It’s the worst".

He watched my legs collapse underneath me and saw my uncle and cousin drag me through the hospital with my feet behind me. He had to park the car alone.

Grant, one of Marty’s best friends received a call on his cell phone.

He jumped out of his car leaving the love of Marty’s life, Vanessa in the passenger side of the car.

She watched him dial several numbers at a payphone. She watched him making calls for over twenty minutes. She heard him arguing loudly. She heard him lie, “I am his brother”. Then she watched him as he began to swing the handset of the payphone repeatedly, smashing all of the glass out of the box.

She didn’t have to be told what had happened.

We left through the front of the hospital and wait to be taken home.

I hadn’t smoked for a couple of years but someone stuck a lit cigarette in my mouth. I was seething; ready to kill, ready to hurt myself, ready to snap.

We arrived home. It was night and I was exhausted and despairing.

I started to scream from the bowels of my soul. I kept bashing my head against the wall. I kept asking every person in the room, “Why has this happened?” or “Where has he gone?” or “Do you know where he has gone?” or “Somebody please tell me where he has gone!”

My family called a doctor who made a midnight house call.

They tried to sit on me to hold me down to be medicated. They opened my mouth and tried to put pills in there. I was like a wild animal, pushing them away, screaming and spitting "LEAVE! ME! THE! FUCK! ALONE!"

I called another one of Marty’s girlfriends, Ruth. I told her to come over right away. She asked, “Why?” and I said, “Just get here whatever way you can”.

Thirty minutes later, she walked into my mum’s apartment. She could see the pain on our faces and she fell to her knees. She let out one word, howled it, and hit the floor with her fists "NOOOOOOOWAH".

Jason, one of Marty’s other close friends had heard the news but he did not want to believe it.

He made his way to Dave’s house. He walked down the street with their friend Adam. He saw another group of guys walking towards him from the opposite end of the road. He saw that they were almost dragging each other along the road. As they approached closer, he heard their sobbing and lamentation.

He asked, "Grant is that you?” No-one answered. “Is it true?"

He followed the boys into Dave’s house. Everyone was drinking, pulling cones, weeping, embracing and telling their ‘Marty’ stories. He sat down and got himself obliterated. He knew then that it was true.

I did not sleep for a very long time after that, maybe months of half an hour here and there. I lost two stone in weight in one week. I lost my appetite for food for months afterwards. I was surging with adrenaline.