Honouring the Memory
A Service following the Royal Liverpool Children's Inquiry
Saturday November 10th, 2001
Adrian Henri the Liverpool Poet who died last year wrote a poem called "Christmas Blues".
It begins:
"Well I woke up this morning it was Christmas Day
And the birds were singing the night away
I saw my stocking lying on the chair
Looked right to the bottom but you weren't there
There was
Apples
Oranges
Chocolates
- but no you
The poem ends:
So it's all the best for the year ahead
As I staggered upstairs and into bed
Then I looked at the pillow by my side
I tell you baby I almost cried
There'll be
Autumn
Summer
Spring
and Winter
- all of them without you"
It is the advent of Christmas that makes the heart ache for those who are no longer with us physically. Their spirit lives but we can no longer see and hold them. We grieve and feel bereft; bereft of their touch.
This is why the taking of our children's organs and tissues has been such an offence to parents and families. When your child is sick and helpless you hold them to yourself to let them feel the warmth and reassurance of your body. When they die the memory you cherish is the warmth of that embrace, body to body, flesh to flesh, heart to heart. The body - their body - weak and vulnerable - pressed against yours - strong and caring - hoping for a miracle.
When my own children were infants there was a moment when I came near to death after an operation. I remember holding my healthy children close to me in the hope that their health would somehow infuse my sickly body. How you the parents must have hoped that you could have transfused your own child with your own health and well-being.
So to discover that their body - so precious to your memory - had been violated leaves you understandably traumatised. Their body and the memory of their body are both marred. The discovery itself brings back their death so that the tragedy of yesteryear feels as if it happened just yesterday.
Of course, as you think back to those moments when you realised how ill they were you remember how you longed for a miracle. The truth is that as you handed over your child to doctors and nurses you did so with complete trust. At such a time we want the doctor to be God, to do the impossible, to deliver the miracle. Doctors do not take upon themselves a God-like status on their own; we confer it upon them for the sake of those we love and long to see healed. But when you discover what has been done without your knowledge, without your understanding, without your consent you feel betrayed - so much so that it becomes difficult to trust anybody in authority. So here we are today doubly bereft, bereft of their touch and bereft of trust.
This lack of trust is the reason it has felt impossible to invite medical and management staff of Alder Hey to this service. I know that some parents are sad that they cannot be here; others could not consider it. I know that Alder Hey are sad not to be here. I know, too, that the Chair and the Chief Executive at Alder Hey are committed to the rebuilding of trust for the good of each individual and the well-being of the community the hospital serves. This rebuilding is demanding and vital.
Alder Hey's absence is in itself a sign and a symbol that in our society those of us in authority who have power do sometimes forfeit the trust of those we serve. That has to be recognised. And it is recognised in this service.
It is not that the parents do not wish well the children and the staff at Alder Hey today. It is not that Alder Hey do not respect the feelings of the parents. Let this absence serve to remind all of us in authority of our duty to earn, to merit and to honour the trust that is put in us by those we serve.
This was very much the tenor of the Redfern Inquiry. Michael Redfern who chaired the Inquiry told me at the publishing of the report how deeply impressed he had been by the unfailing courtesy and dignity of the parents and for their courage and restraint in giving evidence. The report was a vindication of the parents from Liverpool and Manchester, from Wrexham and Preston, from Chester and throughout the North West. You knew that something was wrong and you would not take "no" for an answer. Thank God for that famous Scouse stubbornness that challenges authority and champions the oppressed. Why? Because out of the depths of your experience, out of the dying of your children, out of the courage of your testimony, far reaching decisions are now being planned that will change forever and for good the relationship between doctors and children and their parents.
We know, honouring the memory of your children today in this place is both tearful and painful. But it is your tears that will wash away our fears for tomorrow's children. Your pain will be our common gain. Your children have not died in vain.
We thank God for each and everyone, cherished today in this sacred place. We thank God that in Him, in whom we live and move and have our being we on earth are at one with those in heaven.
Our God knows the pain of finding the body of his own beloved child scarred and marred by human hands. He, the Risen One, is here to comfort us today.
The hand with which he holds us bears the mark of cruel nails;
the hand with which he leads us on holds us to the wounded side of his body.
He sees the tears in our eyes.
Gently he wipes them.
Our vision, blurred by weeping, begins to clear
and we see again - the wonder, the miracle that in his other hand he holds the one we love, the child we mourn, once lost and now found, by his side and safe for all eternity.
Let the honouring of their memory and the remembering of their name be a blessing to you
to us all
for all eternity
Amen.