Isabelle Broadhead was born in Wollongong, Australia on July 7, 2002 and passed away on April 13, 2006 at the age of 3 years and 9 months.
She was our angel and we loved her more than we can express. She was pure delight and we told her so. We mourn our Isabelle with every breath we take.
What can I tell you about my angel? She was described by many as an angel; my husband Noel and I often said to each other that we were scared, because we loved her so much. Noel would tell her that she made his heart sing happy songs and each night during our bed time rituals, I'd whisper in her ear that she was very special and that I loved her to Pluto and back.
We feel mixed emotions about those thoughts now, but I mention it because I think we knew that she was very special.
Let me start at the beginning.
She was too easy. I wish now - and trust me in grief there are lots of these wishes - I wish she'd given me more grief. But she was content and happy. But she struggled to gain weight over her first four months because of her sleepiness. She confused us greatly, because she never cried to be fed. She'd feed from one side, and then fall asleep and couldn't be woken to feed from the other. At four months I relented and gave Belle the bottle - which did mean she gained weight - but I missed that connection between the two of us. I loved to breastfeed and wanted to do it for at least double the time that I got.
She continued to grow and at 6 months she was commando crawling all over our house, dragging herself along like she was trying to find out all she could. She loved music and bright colors and would watch TV lying on her tummy with her head cranked right back so she could get a good look. She was placid and smiley. I described her at 9 months in her baby book as "a gentle soul" because she just seemed to ooze gentleness.
I remember thinking, "how can this child so easily fit into our family? How can she so easily take a great big hold on my heart and how can she make everyone fall in love with her just by looking at her?"
Belle had great big brown eyes and blonde hair. Not white blonde, but golden-blonde, just like me - and her sister Madeleine. She obviously loved Madeleine, who clearly loved her back. Madeleine would fuss over Belle and would always place a protective arm around her shoulders. Her older sisters Laura and Hannah, who stay with us every second weekend, adored her too. Considering how much attention she was given, Isabelle managed to remain very calm and content.
She was slow to feed and showed no interest in real food until well past six months. She also had difficulty pooing. I know this seems strange to mention here, but as we go on it will seem more relevant.
At eight months she began to walk. She would pull herself up on furniture and walk that way till about 12 months. At 12 months she would pull herself to a little table on which we had an old computer. She'd begun to move the mouse and playing baby computer games. It was freaky to watch, because she was so small but could navigate her way around a computer screen. By 18 months, she could load a disc and open up a game and start playing. I remember, though, having to get Noel to pull numerous games out of the CD drive because Belle had walked away and forgotten a game was in there and then come back and attempted to load another.
She loved to play.
She would often sit on her own, having invented some game, lost in her imagination. I would tell people that she was an angel because she was so happy and content. I guess I thought she was an old soul long before she was taken from us.
She loved movies.
I'm going to list them as much as an exercise in remembering her as to share her with you:
Movies:
1. Annie
2. Matilda
2. Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
4. Cat in a Hat
5. Finding Nemo
6. The Barbie Movies
7. Shark Boy and Lava Girl
8. Mary Poppins
9. Little Mermaid
TV:
1. High Five
2. Dora the Explorer
3. Miss Spider
4. Backyardigans
5. Barney
6. Care Bears
7. My Little Piny
8. Strawberry Shortcake
Isabelle loved musicals.
I know a lot of people who love us have heard this story, but I need to share it again. At about 2 years of age, Belle would wake up at about 5:00am; Noel and I would hear her singing in her bed, belting out "Tomorrow" from Annie! She would sing it from the top of her lungs, then gradually she'd get quieter and then drift back to sleep. We'd giggle to ourselves; she could hardly speak, but she could sing (she would also sing the alphabet song - a product of her computer time). It was so nice to be awoken with her sweet voice, filling the air with song.
Belle grew into her own personality between 12 months and 2 years.
She was very demanding and hungry for knowledge. She was stubborn at times, but that really reflected an inner knowledge that knew she wanted. I always missed her when I was away from her and never wanted to be separated from her for any real length of time. I called it a 'yearning to be with her'. We kept acknowledging how she made us feel - as I already said - Noel and I made statements about how much we loved her and how scared that made us.
She began developing a few fears at this point her her life; she was scared of lizards, robots and rubber gloves. None of which we can explain.
She continued to be a fussy eater and her 'pooing issues' became worse. She was constantly constipated and we began trying to fix a problem that ultimately was never conquered.
She was going to a family day care at this point and was happy to be with other children. She struggled to communicate and her words were not clear. She often had a dummy in and we know this didn't help, but she loved it and would often have five or six in bed with her at night. She would find tham all over the house because she had so many and whenever we made a half-hearted attempt to wean them from her, she always managed to produce one from somewhere.
I was working more now and missed her dreadfully when I was away from her. She would throw herself at me when I returned and I will always hear that high pitched "Mummy!" I would get, when I came back for her.
She loved to draw and paint and she loved puzzles.
She was very clever at puzzles, even at 2. She had a favourite family puzzle at family day care and she would play with the people, telling her carer who each one was. She loved little things like people and animals and she would create those games I talked about with them.
I guess our most vivid memories of Belle are of her from 3 to 3 3/4, because this is when her speech really began to develop and she really became a little personality. She loved life; that's what I most remember of Belle, and at times why this hurts so much to write. She also loved bubbles, balloons and ponies.
She loved to make-believe and to dance.
She'd just begun dancing lessons after first showing an interest at 12 months when she danced on her Daddy's lap at Madeleine's end of year dance concert. We had to watch the DVD of the concert over and over for a good 2 years! She would copy the dances and then do them anywhere she heard music.
She once danced for strangers at a family BBQ, accompanied by a piano accordian. I remember thinking, "there's no way she'll do that in front of everyone" and when the music started she began to dance and everyone smiled and laughed. She finished with a bow, as if she'd heard the music before. It was one of those amazing moments.
She and Madeleine would often dance for Noel and I before bed when Belle was about 2 1/2. They would take turns dancing to the music of Disney movies and Belle loved the attention. Each night we would have 'just one more' and the bed time routine was always long.
She just floated through this world. That's how I describe my Belle.
She was a happy soul and she didn't want for anything in terms of the love she gave and received. She oozed it from everywhere. People would always smile at her and she would always be happy to talk to anyone who would listen; she would tell them all sorts of things and I'd think "what are you doing child?", but she just wanted to be heard.
I took her to the zoo once and to the museum twice. She loved it. She always wanted to see the baby crocodiles. She'd start asking as soon as we got there and wouldn't want to leave until she'd seen them a few times at least.
She saw so much and wanted so much from every day. She had friends at school and at home and for being 3 that's no mean feat. She was nice to be with, and to her friends who I know miss her dearly, thank you for keeping her with you always and for helping to heal us.
She loved to color in and she had a knack for it. She actually grasped very quickly the concept of trying to stay in the lines and you can tell a 'Belle pic' in a coloring book because she often used the same color for everything and she'd start from one point and then color everything contained within the lines with a certain amount of obvious determination. She also loved to paint and would always want to make butterfly pictures; you know where you put the paint on and then fold the paper over and squish it. She loved to open it back up.
In her last few months she began to change slightly.
She started getting up in the night and coming into my bed. Up till now she'd never done that. I would carry her back after some time and she would want a drink and then go back to sleep.
She began demanding we be with her more. She didn't want to play alone or be alone. She wanted us with her to be a part of whatever she was doing. I love her dearly but this, as many parents will appreciate, leaves me with mixed feelings also, because the demands of running a house get in the way of spending time with children and it's something you can't go back and get again. If I can impart anything throughout this, it's devote more time to your children.
Deep down I know that Belle got a lot of attention and, more to the point, unconditional love. I can say that I did my best, but we always will look back and say, "I wish I gave more." That, I feel, is one of the most painful aspects of all this; that not only are we grieving the actual person but we're also grieving what has happened and all the future events that should have been. It also feels as if this pain has no end. As I draw breath I suffer the loss and I miss Belle, as a person.
Belle used to do a few funny things.
Often you would find Belle lying on the floor. She would do this anywhere and I always wondered why. It was like she just knew she needed a rest but it at times seemed odd. As she grew older she refused to poo. It was the pain of her existence towards the end; everything revolved around her pooing.
She was generally very uncomfortable; her belly would hang over her pants and she would whine in her sleep. We tried all sorts of medication and her specialist did his utmost to get her to poo, but she was so stubborn she outsmarted us all. I can't tell you how much this problem strained our family. It was so hard to watch her in pain and not be able to help her. We all tried though and I think this is a good indicator of how strong willed she was. Even her preschool teachers, who loved her dearly, struggled with this issue.
But she was still happy in spite of this. She still played well and interacted well and most people would never have known that she struggled so much. She loved preschool and by the end she was there three days a week. She would always hide behind me when we arrived but on leaving she would sing out "bye Mum." I would kiss her and try to find any excuse to linger a little longer and kiss her again. One of my fondest memories of Belle is seeing her through the window when I arrived and her spotting me and jumping up and down, telling everyone that "Mummy's here!"
I would always bring her a little treat, like a chocolate frog, and every day she would ask me, "did you bring me a treat today?" and I would say, "I'm not sure. Have you been good?" and she would say, "yes" and I would say, "well you'll have to wait and check your seat when you get to the car." She was always surprised to find one and would chatter all the way home. Noel complained that when he picked her up she wasn't quite as excited and he reckons he didn't know she got a treat each time I picked her up. But I think she knew it was something special that I did for her. At the time I thought, "One day I'll have to stop doing this, " but now I'm glad I never did.
There's lots that I could say about Belle that I haven't. Lastly, I'd like to tell you that when she was about 2 my husband and I discussed having more children. Noel had four daughters and felt that this was enough. I remember saying to him, "Look at her (Belle); how can we not have another one of those?" I said, "She's so lovely - don't you want another one?" He decided that he did, that we couldn't just have two beautiful daughters; that we wanted one more.
It took two years and four pregnancies that didn't make it past the sixth week, but by the time we lost Belle, I was twelve weeks pregnant.
The Loss
This was always going to be some of the hardest things to write.
It was April 13th - 8:15 in the morning. I was taking my daughters to school and then meeting up with Noel and family for Madeleine's last Easter Hat parade. It was the Thursday before Good Friday.
When we got into the car and I placed Belle in her booster and Madeleine - who normally doesn't sit in a booster as she is 8 - sat in the spare one we had in the car. I fixed Belle's seat belt and Noel put her beanie on her head for fun and she got cranky. He kissed the girls goodbye and we left.
Madeleine was talking to Belle about her Easter Hat parade and Belle wanted to come. We were both explaining to her that she had to go to school that day. We drove toward a winding section of road that would take us down the mountain from where we lived.
Belle had a dummy in her mouth and one in her hand. She was telling me that our friend Tracy (who adored Belle) was dead. I said, "no Belle, Tracy isn't dead; you just haven't seen her for a long time." Belle often talked of death and I don't understand why and it's eerie now when I reflect on it. I said we would see her soon.
We began our descent and as always I traveled this tight winding section slowly. As we approached the last bend, a truck appeared and it was traveling over the double lines, partly on our side of the road. I remember thinking (and I may have said this out loud), "he can't do that." I remember moving our people mover to the left to avoid colliding with him. I heard a crack and applied the brake just before we struck a tree head on.
This section of road has nothing to prevent cars from hitting trees or falling down the side of the mountain into a rocky gully. No curb and guttering, no railings, no barriers, just debris on the edge of the road masking where the road edge is - and the road is tree lined.
The truck continued up the mountain; to this day, I know know if he saw what happened. It was seemingly too simple an accident; we moved over to avoid hitting him and he continued round the bend - only we didn't have room to move. We struck the tree at about 40km an hour.
I remember and still can hear the sounds, but the force was quick and full. The airbag went off and I braced, knowing only a millisecond before we hit the tree that we would. The front of the car crumpled, but nothing inside the car was damaged, nor was the windscreen cracked. I remember some smoke/steam coming in from under the dashboard and I remember it dropping slightly. The girls both screamed and I said, "We're OK."
I remember looking back at them and they were both sitting up and upset, but neither were actually crying. I felt my chest and my stomach as if doing a quick check and thought, "Yep, I'm OK, they're OK, we're OK."
My mind though, was spinning and I felt as if I was transported out of my body and was watching what was happening. I got out of the car and took some deep breaths and thought I was going to collapse. I began to feel that my foot was stiff and I had a tingle in my neck.
I opened the side door to get the girls out, as I was worried that the car was going to catch on fire. I still don't know why I thought this. I reached in and undid Madeleine and asked her to undo her sister, but she jumped straight out of the car and said she couldn't. Like me, she just wanted out. I got her to stay close to the car and reached in to undo Belle, but something was wrong because Belle was leaning forward like she'd gone to sleep. I undid her and had to grab her to stop her from failling. I pulled her out of the car and when I went to lay her down I noticed her lips were see-through, and she was so pale and limp.
I remember being so confused, thinking, "What are you doing Belle?" I didn't understand that there was something very wrong, but deep down I knew. She made some uncomfortable sounds, but was not distressed in any way. I don't know if I could stand to think she was in pain.
She tried to roll over and I tried to get her to lay still and asked Madeleine to hold her hand. I kept telling Belle that she was going to be alright and I would get help. I asked Madeleine to keep talking to her. Madeleine was so brave through all this. I am so proud of her.
I went to the car to get my phone to call an ambulance and when I rang and began talking another car came. I flagged it down. The driver came to my side and helped to talk to Belle and Madeleine and went to his car to get a jacket to put over Belle. I kept saying to him there's something wrong with her and he kept telling me she was going to be OK. She was so transparent and Madeleine was so upset and I kept trying to tell the lady on the phone where we were.
It seemed so long to wait for help and I think it took the ambulances about 20 minutes to get to us. Belle only opened her eyes probably three times and each time it appeared that she wasn't looking at us, that she could hear us, but she couldn't see us. We talked to her a lot about going home to play her new computer game and that she was going to be OK and that she would be fixed. We told her we loved her. I really thought they would fix her. I knew she was very sick but I didn't think we were watching her die. She was bleeding to death, only we couldn't see it.
She had a fit and her hands went stiff. Her eyes rolled back in her head. To look at, she looked perfect; no bumps, no scratches, not even blood. We were to later learn that this added to the difficulty in treating her because she had no obvious injuries. Madeleine was completely unharmed and to this day I wonder at how two children, both in child restraints appropriate to their age, sitting one foot apart, have such drastically different outcomes from the same incident. It confused us, I think, that she looked unharmed. I kept worrying and kept saying, "she isn't breathing' and he kept assuring me she was.
More men arrived and one took the phone from me to talk to the emergency operator. I rang Noel on another person's phone and I still hear those words in my head. "Noel, we've had an accident - we hit a tree and Belle looks terrible!" He was there in only a few minutes as we were so close to home. I remember seeing him come running down the mountain his shirt still unbuttoned, no shoes, just distraught.
He checked Belle, reaching down touching her and telling her, "Daddy's here baby - you're going to be OK." He then scooped up Madeleine, realizing she was unsupported. I had my hand on Belle's tummy. I could only tell she was breathing by its rise and fall. I was also talking to her and the men, asking if someone knew CPR if we needed it. One man was preparing a mask in case it was needed and I remember asking if he would remember how to do it.
I remember at some point blowing air in Belle's mouth as an attempt to see if she would respond and she didn't. In my mind now I see her lips half smile and I don't know if they really did or if I created this memory. I remember thinking, "she thinks 'what the heck are you doing?'."
The ambulances finally arrived and they came to us. One officer knelt next to Belle and put his finger in her mouth, said something and then said "scoop and run" and they picked her up and loaded her. They asked me how fast was I going and I said "40 to 60km"; it was a guess. I know it wasn't fast, but I knew in the last seconds I was unaware. I think they asked if she was restrained and I said "in a booster seat." That was the last time I saw my baby alive.
I replay this in my mind constantly. When I close my eyes at night I see the tree large and looming. I see it all replay as if I'm watching a horrible movie, but with no sound.
Of course I have the 'what if' moments and no doubt others do too. I wish I'd taken our second car, because it's smaller and in my head I image us fitting past the truck. I wish Belle and I had left at our usual time which was 7:20, I wish that she'd been in a five point harness seat like the baby seats you can buy. I wish when I'd gotten her out of the car I'd hugged and kissed her more.
I wish just one thing could have changed that morning, so that we weren't in that spot at that exact moment. I wish I didn't have any what ifs. I understand that they don't help at all. I still have them, but what I'm learning as I travel through this is all the regrets in the world won't change this. Nothing can bring her back and nothing can undo what's been done. This is the one thing I can't fix in my life. I know I'll still have the what ifs, but I know they're futile and that they don't change anything for any of us. I acknowledge they're there and keep moving.
I remember only in the ambulance did I start to worry about the baby in my belly and only then did I start to feel my physical injuries. I kept asking if my baby, meaning Belle, was OK and he kept telling me he didn't know. Belle's ambulance arrived at hospital before us and I was wheeled into a room that was also where Belle was, though I couldn't see her. I had a neck brace on and I couldn't move any way.
I was alone with a doctor and nurses and Noel was with Madeleine. I could hear them working on Belle and I could hear things were bad. I was feeling the panic physically and I kept telling my nurse that I was starting to panic and she kept trying to calm me. I'll never forget her eyes each time she leaned across me - I could see her face when she spoke. I kept asking, "What are they doing to her?" and she kept saying it was 'normal' and that it was 'going to be OK'. But her eyes told me otherwise. They really don't lie.
They brought Noel in and he kept putting his head down like he was going to be sick (he could see the doctores and nurses working on Belle and realized how serious things were). They also kept telling me that Madeleine was going to be OK and that she was doing well.
The doctor came to see us and he said they were working on Belle and that she was very ill. He asked I think if she'd hit her head and I said 'no'. I said, "she did have a fit though." He went back to Belle and not long after I heard them ask for adrenalin and I heard them say "how long have we been working on her?" and I heard one person say since 9:45 and I then begged them to move me. I knew she was dying and couldn't hear them pronounce her dead.
I needed to go and I know it was my flight response. If I didn't hear it then it wasn't true. But of course that isn't how the world works. The doctor came to us and told us (after me saying I didn't want him to tell me, but then relented) that it would be cruel to keep trying and that they were going to stop.
The whole world imploded and from that moment our lives spun off course.
Nothing would ever be the same, no sound, no smell, no look, no love, nothing would ever be quite right again.
I was given more medication to calm me but I wanted to be with Belle. They didn't want me to go because I hadn't been cleared to get up, but they did a quick check and let me up. They put me in a wheel chair and I went to Belle.
They had put a pretty ballerina blanket on her and her hair was all spread out around her. She looked like she was sleeping. Clam and peaceful.
She had a tube taped to her mouth and only a few spots on her hands from places they had put things, but otherwise, she looked unmarked and it seemed so unreal that she was dead, because she looked so fine. Her skin was pale, but her lips had become colored again. I knew that would fade. She was still warm and all I wanted to do was hold her, but we couldn't because she needed to go to the coroner and she would need to be kept still. I started having trouble breathing. Something was squeezing me round the middle and my head was spinning. I needed air. They wheeled me out and Noel stayed with Belle.
Another of my regrets is not being able to be with Belle more at this time, not being able to sit and be with her. When I was taken out the events from here on get all jumbled in my mind. I know I spent more time with Belle, but I also know that I didn't ask for any 'alone time' with Belle and I should have. I also know that people began arriving and I had to see their faces and that was horrible. I went in and out and I do think it was the medication that's altered my memory of this time. I do remember touching her, crying with her and being with Noel in our pain. I'm sure he feels similar - seeing your partner who you cherish being ripped apart from their child is nothing that anyone would ever want to witness.
My best friend Tracy arrived shortly after we were told Belle had died and I remember thinking, "thank god you're here," and I recommended that anyone who works in emergency services to not only check for family that need to be there but if the parents need a friend called, because having someone slightly removed from eveyone else was undoubtedly the most helpful thing for me. I knew she was hurting, but I also knew she was there for me and that's the precious gift to have come from all of this. People kept telling me that this is not my fault - but of course, like anyone would, I had to struggle against the tidal wave of guilt. I had to look at all those sad souls and know that I was driving, that ultimately I had made the decisions, that no one else was involved in that aspect, that it was all about me.
Looking back now, knowing what we know, the outcome of course could always have been worse. If I'd collided with the truck we all could have been taken, if I'd swerved harder we could have ended up down the gully (again we all could have been gone) and for me knowing that Madeleine is here means I am as lucky as I am unlucky.
When I look at our situation and the gifts Belle has given me I feel I have been blessed. I spent nearly four years loving an angel. I spent four years enjoying the fact that she was here. I enjoyed that she taught me how to be a better person and how to be a better mummy. She taught me to love.
Six months after we lost Belle we learned Belle's only injury was an abdominal injury caused by her adult belt. I've begun a campaign to have the NSW legislation changed so that all children up to the age of five be placed in seats that have a six point harness. No child under five should ever use an adult seat belt. We never knew that using a booster seat with an adult belt could be deadly. In fact until after the accident, Noel and I never knew you could buy a seat that is a booster that has the six point harness fitted to it. Please, I urge anyone that uses a booster seat and has children under the age of five to make the change. I would do anything to change what has happened to us and I would have paid anything.
Belle's gift will be (amongst others) the improved safety of children in cars.
Kidsafe NSW has brochures on their website under 'passenger car safety' called 'Choose Right Fit Right'. A few months late for Belle but the more people who send this information on, the safer children will be.
To all our friends and family who supported us in those darkest days, thank you.
I miss you angel girl and I cherish the fact that you were mine. I love you to Pluto and back.
The Broadhead Family produced a couple of YouTube videos similar to Kyles which you can view here - Belle's 1st YouTube video and here - Belle's 2nd YouTube video
You can visit Isabelle's memorial page here - Isabelle Broadhead - Memory-of
The Broadhead Family have joined forces with the Perry Family in Australia to raise awareness about car seat safety and to campaign for stricter laws regarding child restraints in their country. Please visit their website to learn more and support their cause - The BelleToni Association for Child Passenger Safety
Please also view the news story featuring Toni Perry and Isabelle Broadhead - A Current Affair
