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Flowers that say farewell

My Sarah had bloomed with colour herself throughout her short life...


Published by: Laura Hinton
Published on: 15 March 2012

The kitchen was a complete mess. Every surface was covered with icing sugar! Not that it mattered. It was half-term, and me and my daughter Sarah, 11, were having fun.
‘I think it needs more yellow...' she giggled, looking from the painting she'd drawn to the flowery cakes we'd created on the side.
‘You're just saying that because it's your favourite colour,' I teased. ‘You'd have everything as bright as a sunflower!'
I was constantly amazed by how arty Sarah was. She was only in her first year at secondary school, but already had such talent. The sixth-form teachers had told me they'd got their eyes on her!
For as long as I could remember, she'd always be hunched over her sketchbook scribbling away. So that's why we'd combined our talents of baking and drawing.
‘Remember how impressed everyone was at Halloween last year?' I chuckled, thinking back.
‘They didn't want to eat the cake,' Sarah laughed, rubbing her eyes. ‘It was just too good!'
She'd sketched this really wacky design of a skeleton hanging out of a coffin, and then I'd recreated it. Her pictures somehow brought my cakes to life. But right now, she'd had enough.
‘I'm just going to watch TV,' she sighed. ‘I'm done in.'
‘All right, love,' I laughed. ‘Leave your poor mum to clear up!'
Later on, I felt a bit guilty for moaning. She looked really under the weather. ‘I'm meant to be seeing Freddy tomorrow,' she grumbled. ‘But I think I'm going to cancel. I feel so ill.'
She must be bad! Freddy, 11, was her boyfriend. Well, I think he was anyway. She'd get all shy and giggly whenever I asked her about him.
I put my hand on her forehead. Wow, she was hot and clammy. So I gave her a dose of Calpol, and she cuddled her favourite Everton teddy. She loved that thing. It was actually her sister's, but Jennifer, 19, didn't seem to mind. They'd bought it at an Everton match last year. Sarah, Jennifer, their brother Andrew, 21, and my hubby Paul, 50, were all massive fans.
Suddenly, she threw the teddy to one side. ‘I-I'm going to be sick,' she gasped, running to the bathroom.
She wasn't right the whole night. Normally, her and Andrew would spend the evening playing on the PS3. I'd hear them bickering.
‘You're driving the car the wrong way!' Andrew would yell.
‘I can't do it,' she'd flap, before finally huffing off.
Or she'd be watching the kids' TV shows online, wearing headphones because I didn't like all the noise. Now she had no energy for anything, though.
So the next day, I took her to the doctor, who reckoned she had flu-like symptoms and a water infection, and gave her antibiotics. ‘Can I go back to school, Mum?' Sarah begged. ‘Otherwise I'll miss art class tomorrow...'
The antibiotics didn't stop her from vomiting again that night, though. ‘Get some rest,' I urged, tucking her in bed.
‘Love you,' she called as I left the room.
‘Love you, too,' I smiled.
Exhausted, I fell asleep - but first thing in the morning I was woken by a scream. ‘Mum!' Andrew yelled. ‘Mum!!'
Following his voice, I rushed into Sarah's room. She was in bed, a trail of sick around her mouth. Her eyes were open - but she was staring vacantly. I called her name, shook her. Her skin was cold and clammy. Don't panic, don't panic.
‘Is-is she breathing?!' Andrew stuttered.
Help, we needed help. Rushing out of the room, I grabbed the phone and rang an ambulance. Everything was happening so fast. Next thing I knew, paramedics were in the room, pumping life into my daughter, Every part of my body was willing her on. Come on, Sarah - breathe.
And poor Andrew. He was holding the resuscitation bag over her mouth. The fear took over then. I couldn't watch.
For the next hour, I paced downstairs, crying until my eyes were red raw as more medics arrived. Finally, one of the team pulled me aside. ‘We're keeping her alive,' she explained. ‘But Sarah's been suffering from gangrenous appendicitis. Her whole body has been poisoned.'
I couldn't take all this in... she hadn't had the flu, she'd had appendicitis - and it had been slowly killing her.
‘It'll have already ruined her organs,' the medic continued.
‘D-do we have to stop then?' I gasped, struggling to take it in.
‘I think so,' she admitted.
Taking a deep breath, I walked back in the room. Andrew looked up at me from the floor, his face stained with tears. ‘We have to say goodbye, love,' I croaked.
He looked so traumatised, but nodded. The medic moved aside. I knelt beside Sarah. Her chest was rising slower and slower... I took her hand and kissed it. ‘Bye, sweetheart,' I whispered. Then she fell asleep forever.
‘No, no, Sarah,' I cried over her body. Andrew was hugging me, trembling. We clung together as she was taken away. ‘I'll call Dad and Jennifer,' he croaked.
‘God, they don't even know,' I wept. Paul was working in London, and Jennifer was at college...
It seemed like five minutes, but must have been hours before they were bursting through the door. ‘My little girl,' Paul sobbed.
‘I'm so sorry,' I wept, hugging him tight. ‘Hey,' he said, looking me in the eye. ‘You can't blame yourself.'
‘Maybe I should've taken her back to the doctor,' I insisted. But it wouldn't have helped. Our beautiful daughter hadn't had any other symptoms than sickness, there'd been no pain - and once her appendix had ruptured, the damage had been done.
I couldn't change anything now. What I could do was treasure Sarah's memory and give her the most beautiful funeral. ‘She can't be buried in any old brown box,' I insisted. So we ordered a special coffin with yellow sunflowers on it.
And at her funeral, watching it pass through the church, I was convinced that I heard one of Sarah's infectious giggles.
It reminded me of all those times she'd sat giggling with her headphones on in front of the computer. She'd loved the Horrid Henry cartoon the best. ‘He never gets punished for being naughty,' I'd tutted at her once.
‘I know, it's great!' she'd giggled, watching it again.
‘You wouldn't get away with any of that,' I'd laughed, shaking my head. Right now, I'd let her get away with anything if only I could have held her just once more. Instead, we were burying her.
‘I'm glad she has the Everton teddy with her,' Jennifer whispered.
‘Me, too,' I smiled.
Over the following weeks, we had to slowly come to terms with Sarah's death. But then just one little thing would send me backwards. One day, I went to bake some cakes, and they all went completely wrong.
‘I miss you, Sarah,' I sobbed, chucking them in the bin. I'd lost my inspiration without my little artist on hand.
But, over time, I realised I had to celebrate my daughter's life. So we're going to hold an exhibition of her artwork in a local hall on her birthday, July 1. I'm going to bake some cakes, too - by myself, but I'll always feel her close by.
Margaret Temme, 50, Portslade, East Sussex