Remembering

We all have memories that are sad. Saying goodbye to a teenager was one of the hardest things I've ever done, but his memory lives on. In memory of Hugh, died December 27th 2004. True Story.

Remembering

The early morning sun shone into my room. I lay awake, staring up at the ceiling and enjoying the relaxed feeling. My sister was already up, though I had no idea where she was. As my clock turned towards nine thirty I decided it was time I got up. I reached for my glasses case and my watch before heading down to the kitchen. Once there I took a bowl from the cupboard and the branflakes from the shelf. I settled at the table with my breakfast, not wanting to watch the news after the events of the day before. I heard the phone ringing, and then my father speaking into it. I tried not to listen, but then I couldn’t help it.

“How is Tim coping with it?”

It was in that moment that I knew something was wrong. My first thought was ‘grandma’, but then I decided it wasn’t her. I continued my breakfast as quietly as possible, listening for more information. But it wasn’t until my mother came down and spoke to dad that I found out. I tried to act as though I’d not heard, but as I walked through the room to go back to my bedroom I knew they suspected I’d heard them.



It wasn’t until some hours later that we found out officially. I’d not said a word about what I’d overheard while I’d been eating my breakfast, and tried to hide it as we all sat around the table. We sat in silence until dad spoke.

“Hugh died last night.”

His announcement was followed by a stunned, shocked silence. We had seen our cousin only a week ago, and he had seemed in perfect health then. I returned to my bedroom, picked up my diary and a pen.

Two days later, my sister went away for New Year and I to the cinema with a few friends. One of them noticed I wasn’t joining in as much I usually did, and while the others made use of the toilets, asked me what was wrong. I had always trusted this friend; she wasn’t like the others I’d had. I told her quietly what had happened, and it was with her help that I got through the rest of the day.



The following two weeks passed slowly. The shock of our cousin dying so suddenly seemed to hang over the house, but we managed to get on with our lives as normally as possible. Towards the end of those two weeks we finally got the news we had been waiting for. I was getting ready for the day when mum came and told me. I had just finished brushing my hair when she came into my room.

“Helen just called.” She said. “They know how Hugh died. It was pneumonia.”

I nodded, relief flooding through my body, though it wasn’t until she’d left that it really sank in. I fell lightly to the floor beside my bed with my head in my hands.

“Thank God.” I whispered. Since the news that he had died, we had been on edge, all of us afraid that he had died of a type of meningitis. As I lowered my hands my eyes fell upon the purple cover of my diary.



It was the following day when we found out when the funeral would take place. It would be in one week exactly, in Cambridge. I told mum I wanted to go, but she was reluctant to allow it. She wasn’t sure I’d be able to cope with it, but I knew we would never know unless I went.

I spent the rest of that week revising for my upcoming exams and finishing some coursework that I had. We were told of the final details when Friday arrived. We would have to leave at ten to get to the hall for one, and we would be going with various aunts and uncles in their cars. I asked to go with mum, feeling she understood me better than my sister. I got my clothes out ready for the following day before I went to bed. My school trousers would have to do, and I had no black t-shirt, which meant my navy one would be the best I had, and my navy coat.

I wished the family could have met up on happier terms that morning as various people arrived at our house to collect us. Having no car meant we had to spit up. It also meant we would be leaving at different times.

Finally we were all on the road. Mum and I went with an aunt and Heather, another cousin. I had always gotten on well with Heather, though I’d not seen her for some time, so I didn’t know how our relationship would be now. The journey down there seemed to take a long time, and by the time we reached the hall I was glad to get out of the car.

The small hall was packed on both levels. Downstairs was standing room only now, so some of us went up to the floor above, which was more a balcony around the walls. One of my brothers and my sister got seats over the far side together, I managed to get a seat next to a relative I’d never seen before with various family members nearby. I couldn’t see what was going on below, so I simply sat in silence and listened, staring at the floor and the opposite wall. I heard people talking about the person I had never known well. A friend spoke with a shaky voice, and dad at his sister’s request, read a short passage from the bible. I wanted to cry, but somehow I managed to stay dry eyed through the whole of the short service. We sat still as they took the coffin out to the hearse and the immediate family followed. The sun was shining on us when we emerged from the hall. I watched as the hearse drove away to the burial site, and two long, black cars followed with various people inside, including Hugh’s parents. That was when it hit me. People were still coming out of the hall as I stood there, tears pouring silently down my face as I looked for mum. Someone I didn’t know asked me if I was all right. It struck me as an odd question at the time. I nodded as I spotted my brothers coming out into the light. I quickly found mum, and after a minute or two managed to get my emotions under control again as we hugged.

It was a short drive to the burial site. It had been created only recently, so there were few graves. There were so many people attending that we filled the small car park. We walked over to the far side of the cold, bleak burial site, gathering in a group near the hearse, where a light brown wicker coffin sat in the back. A few words were said, and the coffin lowered into the ground. I drew closer to mum, shaking with emotion and cold as the bitter January wind blew through the field. People began to go up to the edge of the grave, dropping flowers in on top of the coffin, and earth for those who hadn’t brought flowers. I could feel tears running down my face again as we stood there, and I let them fall silently.

Mum and I went up together. We each took a handful of earth. I let her drop hers in first, then it was my turn. I stood at the edge of the hole, looking down at the partially covered coffin that now held my cousin.

“Goodbye, Hugh.” I whispered as I let the earth fall from my hand. “Rest in peace.”

I stepped back as others went forwards. I returned to my mother’s side as a few final words were said and we began to leave. I hung back a moment as mum started to walk away, saying a final, silent goodbye before I followed.



Hugh was only sixteen when he died on the 26th of December 2004. He was buried four weeks later, on a bitter January day. I still think back to that day from time to time. I recorded a lot of it in my diary entries. This story is based on both those words I wrote at the time, and the memories I have of it. I have always believed that no parent should have to bury a child, but for Helen and Tim on that cold January day, that was what happened. I know Hugh is missed, but his memory lives on in everyone that was lucky enough to know him.