Jonathan Van-Nuil

My dearest nephew always missed - my memory iof the day you died.

A DAY OF CHANGE
By Jonathan Van-Nuil


I will never forget the worst day of my life; it was
the day of my nephew’s death. I wish I could forget it
but the way I found out, makes it almost to forget.

Thursday 29th July 1993 had dawned rather misty, but
quite humid in the grounds of Bangour Village
Hospital. I awoke early that morning wondering where
my day would take me; little did I know what was to
develop before the sunset of this day. I spent my
morning just the same as I had done every morning this
week, in fact the same as every morning since my
arrival at the Rehab ward two weeks earlier. No one
could ever have imagined the events which were
unfolding in another small part of West Lothian.

My first inclination that something was not quite
right was the arrival of my parents at the ward. I
thought this very strange and peculiar, as it was not
yet visiting time. Even more bizarre was who had came
with them, my brother and older cousin. To my
knowledge both of them should have been at work, this
was becoming weirder by the minute. Why were they
here? Especially as my cousin and I were not
particularly close. I found it stranger that he should
be there. A thousand thoughts raced around inside my
head. I was desperate to solve this rather complicated
mystery. What ever it was, surely I would find out as
it was becoming unbearable to think about.

My heart was beating faster than an Edinburgh to
King’s Cross express train. The moment of truth was
getting ever so nearer, first contact when I would
hopefully find out the reason as to why they were
here. As the nurse approached me, my mouth went dry
and I could feel the perspiration flowing out of the
tiny pours all over my body.

“Jonathan, your mum and dad are here, they need to
speak to you”, the nurse informed me. I could barely
manage a whisper for my reply; yet alone have any
strength to move my legs. But I managed it somehow,
gathering all my strength to get up and meekly follow
the nurse out of the room through to the office.

When I entered the room I immediately knew that
something was wrong, but never did I expect to hear
what I was about to be told. My mother took a deep
breath in and began.

“Jonathan we have something to tell you and I don’t
exactly know how to tell you, other than just say it”.
Hearing this made me even more puzzled, I was now even
more intrigued than I had been before. She continued
“this morning your nephew Jonathan died”. I felt as
though I had been frozen to the spot on hearing this,
as though someone had just made me into a sculpture of
ice.

To say I was stunned was an understatement. I felt as
though the alarm clock would go off minute and I would
awaken from a horrible nightmare – the nightmare of
all nightmares. It took about 20-30 seconds for the
first cry of despair to exit from my mouth. My legs
had, by this time, buckled from under me as though I
were a newborn calf, trying to stand for the first
time.
When the tears did come, I thought they were never
going to end. My parents tried to comfort me as best
they could but it was an impossible task, especially
when they to were in the midst of grieving. My mum
asked me if I would like to go home with them but I
could not make my mind up at that time. So she said
that if I decided I’d like to go home after they had
gone, just to phone and someone would come for me.

After they left, I was still very shocked. My tears
had subsided for the moment, but surely they would
return sometime soon. I asked the nurse if I could go
for a walk, she said it would be ok as long as someone
went with me. I did not particularly want any company,
but I suppose it was a good idea although I did not
think so at the time. I can’t remember much about my
walk, it seemed as though I had just left the ward a
minute before I got back even although 30-40 minutes
had passed. Where had those minutes gone? Did I really
walk for 40 minutes or had I been frozen in some sort
of time warp that I have no memory of? One thing that
was certain, my mind was now made up. I wanted to go
home.

I can’t remember how I got the message to my parents
about going home or who came to collect me from the
hospital. All I really can remember is thinking that
someone would tell me it had all been a big mistake.

When I arrived home, the house had a sense of sadness
about it. I know that sounds strange but that’s what I
remember thinking to myself when I got out the car.
Inside there was an eerie silence, everyone was
sitting silently staring into space. The only person
that made any movement or sound was my dog Misty; at
least someone was happy that I was home. I suppose I
was really glad to see him, but I remember thinking to
myself why could it not have been that dog and not my
nephew. I know it was not a very nice thought, but I
could not help thinking it at the time.

The rest of that afternoon and evening were a bit of a
blur but later that night, as I looked up in to the
night sky. I remember thinking that I would never ever
forget this day for as long as I lived.

It certainly had been a day of change.