9 years ago today, the 12th June 2000, my daughter Stephanie died at the hands of her mother. She was 26 months old.
I rarely talk about her. She was born before a law which granted automatic parental responsibility to fathers who were listed on the birth certificate came into effect, and her mother and mother's family refused me access. I hadn't been allowed to see her since she was 9 months old.
For the longest time I was very angry; with myself for not trying to do more, and with the people around me. Eventually I saw what an impact that anger was having on my life and I started to let go. Now it's replaced with a sadness when I think of her, but I'd rather that.
After her death, I couldn't comprehend having any more children. I wanted a vasectomy. Thankfully the NHS wouldn't touch me, and rightly so: agreeing to that kind of operation on someone who's obviously grieving for their child would have been wrong; the NHS do get it right some times. I wasn't in a position to go private either.
A number of years later, I met Emma. We were together 3 years before we had Zachary. Even though Stephanie's death wasn't SIDS, I had a deep seated fear, probably more than most parents, that he would die too.
I wanted to get him a sleep apnea alarm – one of those mats which alerts you when it detects your child has stopped breathing – but after long discussions with Emma, and others, I realised that I shouldn't project my fears onto Zachary. It wouldn't be healthy for either of us.
Here we are now in 2009. Zachary's a happy and healthy little boy, who's loved by all who meet him. Just thinking about him brings a smile to my face.
Nowadays life flies by, but not a day goes past where I don't think about my daughter, Stephanie.
note: I wrote this, not for sympathy, but because after nine years I feel I am at last ready to talk about Stephanie to more than just my closest friends and family. If anyone wants to talk to me about her, you are welcome to. I request though that no-one adds comments to this post.
