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THE last time I saw my sister Hollee was at the Fremantle train station. Alannis Morrisette was playing on the radio as I dropped her at the station to catch a train to go home after spending time with us during the April school holidays, 1996.
Ten days later I got a phone call which changed my life – my beautiful younger sister was on life support at Sir Charles Gairdener Hospital and wasn’t expected to live. 
The reason – deadly meningococcal meningitis.
They say that as time passes, tragic losses like that of Hollee from our tightly knit family will heal. I guess, and a lot of other people who have suffered similar losses – whether through meningitis, car accident or any form of sudden death, will agree it does get easier to live with – but it never ever goes away. Not a day goes by when I don’t catch a glimpse of Hollee, whether it be in any one of the photos we have of her in my home, or in my mind. Her long, golden shining hair, her infectious laugh, her way of ringing me and saying “Hi Jack”, her bubbly personality – they will all remain in my memory forever.
I saw her grow from a tiny baby, 14 years younger than me, to a beautiful young woman with endless possibilities in life – all cruelly snatched away from her.
There is an enormous sense of loss – not just the loss of a precious sister, but also the things that could have been. Hollee was a talented artist and graphic designer – who knows where that could have taken her? I miss the contact she would have had with my children, who loved their aunty very much and dream of what her wedding would have been like sometime in the future.
The experience of losing Hollee to meningitis has made me now super sensitive to the disease. If one of my children have a high temperature for longer than seems reasonable, I take them to the doctor. The shock of seeing my sister healthy one minute and then on life support the next, has made me and all my family, so aware of how quickly meningitis can progress. The other terrible possibility was that myself, my husband and my four children – then aged from three to 13, could have all been at risk of contracting meningitis because we had been in contact with Hollee in the previous 10 days before she died.
Can you imagine the horror of losing someone in your family and then being told you and your children were at risk. This was almost too much to bear, especially for me because my little daughter was so young and more vulnerable at that time.
We all took the prescribed antibiotics and I watched my kids like a hawk for a long time.
My other sister, Vicki, and I also kept on imagining we had sore throats and felt ill just after Hollee died – a natural reaction and probably also related to the enormous stress we were under.
Both my mother and I agree that we wish the meningitis awareness campaign had been around in 1996, because it may have saved Hollee’s life. Mum had never even heard of it until Hollee had it and although I had, it was the last thing I thought of when Mum told me Hollee had a really bad case of the flu.
Nothing will ever bring Hollee back and even though I wish with all my heart we could turn back the clock and have another chance of saving her life, I know this is not possible.
I hate the word meningitis and always will – they say death makes you angry and I am angry with the disease. All I can do now is help make people more aware of it, not to be complacent about it and get on with my life the best way I can.
But it won’t ever be quite the same again.