The next of our red letter days was going to be the coroner’s inquest, this was going to take place on St George’s day, and in our minds it seemed fitting for our own little Saint George. A week or so before the day, the corner got in touch via the liaison officer, she let us know that the coroner has requested that the report should be read privately and at a date to suit ourselves, he also added that he felt it would be only right not to hold it in the public domain because of the heartache and suffering this can cause.  At first I felt cheated and that George’s memory was being forgot, I also felt it was being swept under the rug and wanted our day in court but after a little bit of thinking and a lot of sole searching, what was said made sense.
On Saint George’s day it felt right to ask if a mass would be said for our little George, Our priest spoke, children from our local primary school sang, and readings was said, so different to his funeral were I was here holding George in his little white coffin. I lit a number of candles as I held back the tears, the church just seemed the right place to be to celebrate our own little Saint George on this important day.

Following the mass, we arranged another of those red letter days that I have been dreading, it was the day we were going to register George’s death. We arrived

at the town hall, the building looked old and tired, void of feeling and emotion.  We sat in the reception area waiting for our appointment time, where only a few months earlier we register his birth. We just sat there for someone to come down from the office to greet us, but the emotionless face of local government made us feel like ‘just a number’. As person after person past us on the way to an interview carrying false smiles, only stopping at the reception to give their names, I felt like we were invisible.

As the time was ticking ever later and no sign of the town hall clark, I went over to talk to the receptionist about the delay as we were the first appointment of the day, all we got was, sorry a computer error!!.. meanwhile the next appointment turned up, a family with their new born child, all happy and joyful, all ready to register their baby’s name, their came and stood next to us.  I know I shouldn’t be bitter but I felt like shouting. When the clark finally came down, she overlooked us and began talking to a couple with the baby, she then show them the slip of paper with our details on in front of their noses. No, No, No!, we’re first? Are we not important, I wanted to say, but it wasn’t my place to.

I calmly spoke up and she finally realised who we were and asked if we would follow he to her office, along with the other family. We walked up a flight of stairs, as only one of the lifts were working, to a small back room office. She pointed at the chairs and give a standardise apology for the delay before quickly filling the certificate. It felt cold and it meant nothing, a piece of paper with his name on top.

With that out of the way, we then planned to pick up our other children from there schools and nursery, before going to visit George’s grave, we place a flowers and we stood for a short time thinking what to say in our hearts before releasing baby blue balloons into a warming breeze on that lovely spring evening.
As for us, we started trying to live our life again, rebuilding and trying to make our new normal, nothing would ever replace George and nothing could. Good night my baby boy, the pain of your passing stay with us.

You don't die from a broken heart, you only wish you did