5,742 days: A mother's journey through loss

by Anne-Marie Cockburn

Overview

On 20th July 2013 15-year-old Oxford schoolgirl Martha Fernback died suddenly after swallowing half a gram of MDMA powder, more widely known as ecstasy. Within hours her mother, Anne-Marie Cockburn, began to write down her feelings as a way to channel her shock and try to make sense of the tragic loss of her only child. The resulting diary became 5,742 days: a mother's journey through loss. From an early age Anne-Marie has used writing to try to make sense of her life. This recent tragedy propelled her out of the shadows and gave her the confidence to share her writing with the world. In this book we join her in real time on her shocking and agonising journey, as she deals with the impractical demands placed on a grieving single parent, starts to cope with the realities of life on her own and faces up to a future she could never have predicted. From the moment Martha died Anne-Marie recognised that she still had a future, a life to live. This revealing, emotional and, ultimately, uplifting book shows how she used the art of writing, combined with determined self-belief, to guide her during this terrible time.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781909652651
Publisher:	Infinite Ideas Ltd
Publication date:	07/20/2014
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	177
File size:	8 MB

About the Author

Anne-Marie Cockburn lives in Oxford. From an early age she has used writing to try to make sense of her life. The tragic loss of her daughter propelled her out of the shadows and gave her the confidence to share her writing with the world in her first book, 5,742 days. She is a regular media commentator on inadequate and outdated drugs policies.

Preface

Introduction On 20th July 2013 my daughter, Martha Fernback, died, aged fifteen. This is my story, from the minute an unrecognised number appeared on my mobile phone screen and a stranger’s voice told me that my daughter was gravely ill and they were trying to save her life. Martha had taken half a gram of white powder which turned out to be MDMA (ecstasy). It was an innocent mistake. This book relates my journey since that moment. It’s in real time, as writing has helped me to cope during the times when everything became too much. The pain was so immense that I had to channel it somewhere to get it out of my system; I did this by writing my way through the agony. Martha was my only child and I am a single parent. Sunday 21st July: Day 1 My fifteen-year-old daughter died yesterday. I watched them try to save her. They pumped her chest and drilled something into her shin, but I knew she was already dead on arrival at the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford. They elevated her arms, but I don’t know why, her eyes were half open and she was way beyond the clouds and stars already. I was calling to her in the same tone I last heard when I gave birth to her. A tone so unearthly and raw that it haunted the entire corridor of medical staff. Two nurses stood by me, I restlessly laid my head on one and squeezed their hands as I yearned for my girl to come back to me. I needed the love of strangers and it was there in abundance. I couldn’t breathe once they announced what I already knew, my fingers and toes were tingling. They put me on a wheeled chair and asked me what I wanted to do. What do I want to do? I don’t know what to do – what do you do in a situation like this? Strangely though, I didn’t want to be with her, I didn’t feel a connection. I felt strongly that she left before she even arrived at the hospital. I didn’t want to hold her – I just needed to get out of that room. They wheeled me into a side room and I sat up on a bed. They gave me a cup of sugary tea – I can still remember that tea, it was like drinking the world, and everything in it was good, and kind, and wholesome again. My parents arrived and I heard them outside the curtain. They gave them the bad news and then unveiled me from behind the curtain as though I was a curiosity. Their faces were mosaic floors, their stoop said that life would never be the same again for any of us. They were devastated, but I sensed they knew they needed to give what little they had left to me, before allowing their own feelings to surface. The police and various official people needed to speak to us. The CID guy spoke to us and I watched his lips move through the fog of my mind. He set out procedures and timelines to help us understand what to expect over the coming days. Martha was now the property of the coroners until their investigations and toxicology tests were carried out. She’d hopefully be released to us within a couple of days, which meant she could be moved to the hospital mortuary and we’d be able to see her again. It was very clear to me that I needed to donate any of her organs that could possibly be saved, but the autopsy, toxicology tests, etc., meant that they were limited as there wasn’t enough time. But I was told we could donate a valve from her heart which we agreed to do. My friends started to arrive, all trying to dilute my pain and carry my burden for themselves. Never have so many people in one day told me they loved me. Colleagues and friends all declaring they care for me and that they’ll do whatever I need. My life goes on from here. The wheels keep turning, they need to, and, although my heart is smashed into a million pieces, slowly with all this support and nurturing, I can be glued back together again.