We clicked straight away, and
it was amazing how two strangers, randomly meeting on the other side of the
world, could create a close friendship so quickly, which would last right
until her untimely death only twelve years later at the age of 37.
A few weeks after meeting, we
both had enough money to get a tiny flat to share just around the corner
from the beach. It was so much fun and probably one of the best times of my
life. We worked hard, partied hard and laughed hard for six months, until it
was time for both of us to move on in separate directions, having different
homeward itineraries.
We both ended up living in
London and socialising regularly. Sarah managed to get a job as a researcher
for "Tomorrow’s World" and worked round the corner from my place in
Shepherd’s Bush.
Shortly after Sarah had got
home she met up with her friend Lisa’s older brother, Andy, and it seemed to
be love at first sight – even though she had known him for years. I could
see she was deeply in love with him and she also confided to me she had
actually liked him for years. Andy later told me he had always held a torch
for Sarah too. Soon after getting together, Sarah was pregnant with
their first son.
Two more boys followed, more
or less at the same time as me having three children with my now husband,
Toby. Sarah had been very active in shooting cupid’s arrow for us and was
delighted when, after lots of too-ing and fro-ing, Toby and I got together.
Sarah and Andy moved to
Brighton, where, as well as coping with three small children, she managed to
study for, and achieve, a Master’s degree.
Sarah was ambitious and very
talented. It wasn’t long, with the children growing older, that she got into
Public Relations, which, funnily enough, I now also work in. Before she
died, she had just started to get some great successes in her new career.
She was always very proud of
Andy’s success in garden design, but I also felt she was desperate to carve
out a successful career for herself. She was a very independent, feisty
young woman, and wanted to contribute to financially supporting her family
in any way she could. I always think how much she could have achieved if her
life had not been cut short.
She was a natural high flyer
and had set aside all her ambition and talents to raise a fantastic young
family and home, and this had been the time when she could go out and have
more of a life for herself again, which she so truly deserved.
Why did that just vanish for seemingly no reason? Why is it so unfair?
Another friend of mine told
me once after Sarah’s death, that he believed we were all given a number the
day we are born. I certainly would not have believed that for one moment
before, but now I had to try and believe it, as there was no other real
sense to be made out of her death, and for the desperate loss felt by her
family and friends. It should never have been Sarah as she loved life so
much and had so much to live for. And so much more to give. Maybe then her
number had been 37, and there was nothing anyone could do to change that.
Sarah died in her sleep after
having a lovely day – her last Tweet said: “Going to bed happy.”
That broke my heart in an
instant because it so truly summed up what Sarah was all about.
I know she did not suffer, as
some young people do when they die, but I can’t help but feel it was so
wrong and I wish to this day there might have been something that could have
stopped it, even though I know there wasn’t.
The funeral was held on a
beautiful, hot summer’s day. There was no breeze. Everything was very still,
very silent. Butterflies danced around the marquee in the field where her
green burial in woodland was held. I thought maybe one of them was Sarah
flying around us, watching us say goodbye.
A few months ago I met up
with a couple of Sarah’s old school friends, who had more or less grown up
with her and had known her for many more years than I had. We talked, shared
old photos, shed tears and laughed as well.
I think Sarah would have been
really happy to know that new friendships had been made from her death -
that something good, even small, could come from it. She would have wanted
that.
Sarah and I had not seen much
of each other for a while before she died. We were both really busy with
work and families and lived on opposite sides of London, with her in
Brighton and me in St Albans. The last time I spoke to her, after a chat on
the phone with the normal chaos in the background of children and noise, I
said she could call me next time. She said I should arrange to go down and
stay with her for the night again, but of course I never got the chance.
I still think about Sarah
every day, and although none of it makes much sense to me still, after I
found out about the work that various cardiac charities do with raising
awareness of young people’s sudden death from cardiac problems; I have tried
to contribute to the cause. I have done a couple of fun runs and try to
suggest media opportunities when I see them, such as the death of Stephen
Gately from a similar cause.
If more people supported the
work of cardiac charities, such as raising awareness of the warning
signs and donating cardiac equipment in the community, maybe more young
lives could be saved. Maybe it could have been Sarah’s.
Laura Berrill
|
Laura's story has
appeared in a number of UK newspapers and publications and also on
the BBC website |
