At the heart of RoadPeace lies an unwavering belief: every grief matters and every life deserves to be remembered. Caroline Hunter, a cherished member of our West Mercia Group, exemplified this when she courageously shared the story of her son, Freddie, on World Day of Remembrance for Traffic Victims. With her husband Dan by her side, Caroline’s words moved everyone, reminding us why we stand together in this fight for safer roads and justice.
Here is Caroline’s powerful speech:
Thank you for gathering here today, on this World Remembrance Day for Traffic Victims. This day is one of profound reflection, as we come together to honour the lives lost and to acknowledge the countless families who have been forever changed by the tragic events on our roads. I stand before you not just as a speaker, but as a mother, a mother whose heart has been shattered in ways that words can scarcely convey.
On the morning of December 11th, 2022, I awoke to a blanket of snow covering the ground, a sight that filled me with a deep sense of peace, joy, and optimism. It was one of those rare moments in life when everything felt perfectly aligned. My now husband, Dan, and I, had both just finished work for the year, ready to embrace an extended Christmas break, a very rare luxury for us. We were filled with anticipation for the life-changing events ahead. Our wedding was just days away on the 16th, and our first child was on the way, our precious baby boy, Freddie.
That morning, I remember feeling an overwhelming euphoria, a happiness so intense that I can recall every second of it. Christmas has always been my favourite time of year, much to Dan’s dismay. I’d go all out, buying the biggest tree possible, meticulously decorating it, revelling in the smells, the sense of family, and the memories of Christmases past. The snow that day only added to my happiness, and I couldn’t resist capturing the moment, sending photos of my growing bump to my mum and maid-of-honour, feeling that everything was as it should be.
But life has a way of changing in an instant, and sometimes, those changes are unimaginably cruel.
With the wedding approaching, there were a few final errands to run. I remember hesitating before heading out that day, was it exhaustion, an omen, or just the intuition of a mother? I’ll never know. We travelled down a main road just minutes from home, with Dan behind the wheel. Dan is an experienced HGV driver, and I’d never felt anything but safe with him. But safety, as I now know, is a fragile illusion, and in the blink of an eye, our lives were shattered.
The crash happened so fast, yet every detail remains seared into my memory. I can still see the front grill of that large SUV at eye level when I close my eyes for too long. Our nightmare began at that moment, and it’s one from which I can never truly wake.
The pain was immediate, but the scream that followed felt like it came from somewhere deep within my soul, so primal, so raw, that I barely recognised it as my own. Instinctively, I reached for my bump, desperately trying to protect Freddie, but the car seemed to take an eternity to come to a stop. Everything felt surreal, like a terrible nightmare, except this was our reality.
This is where the clear memories end for me. Everything that follows is a chaotic blur, a mix of scenes that I haven’t fully processed, because I can’t, and perhaps because I never will be ready to let them in.
Our wedding day did go ahead, but it was a mere shadow of the event originally planned. Instead of the joyous celebration we had envisioned, we had a quick ceremony at the registry office, with only a couple of witnesses present. My wedding dress, which I had bought to proudly show off my bump, still hangs in the back of my wardrobe, untouched since my last fitting, a painful reminder of what should have been. I felt so numb, I had to be persuaded to wear anything other than joggers and a baggy jumper, I was unable to grasp why everyone was so concerned with the trivial details of the day. What should have been the beginning of our journey as a family of three was reduced to a memory overshadowed by loss.
Our beloved Freddie never had the chance to take his first breath in this world. He never had the opportunity to live the life we had dreamed for him. But from the moment I saw that first flicker of a heartbeat on the ultrasound, I knew I was a mother. The crash took away our future, but it didn’t take away the fact that Dan and I were and still are parents. Yet, for a long time after the crash, I struggled to acknowledge that truth. I felt I had failed as a mother, didn’t deserve that title as I couldn’t protect my son, and my body had let us all down. When people ask if I have children, I still stumble over my words. Saying “yes, but” is too painful, too complicated, instigates too many questions and yet saying “no” is unfathomable. Freddie existed, and he deserves to be acknowledged.
And that brings me to an issue that weighs heavily on my heart. Under current traffic laws, any child lost in a road traffic collision who does not take a breath outside the womb is dismissed—not deemed a death in the eyes of the law, not even counted as a statistic. But our little boy was real, and he deserves so much more than that. How many other young lives, if counted, would add to the already unacceptable number of deaths on our roads? These losses cannot be ignored, they cannot be forgotten.
For a time, I felt as though Freddie was lost and forgotten. I reached out to baby loss charities and spoke to my GP, but nothing seemed to help. Nobody seemed to understand the violent nature of Freddie’s loss, the sudden and brutal end to a life that had just begun. It wasn’t until I found RoadPeace that I began to feel the slightest bit heard or understood. The 1-1 support calls they offered were a lifeline, keeping my head above water when I was at my lowest, drowning in a pool of grief. In all honesty, they probably saved my life.
Gradually, I was introduced to the idea of attending a local support group for other bereaved families. At first, I resisted. I felt like our loss didn’t compare to those who had lost loved ones with years of memories to cherish. But I couldn’t have been more wrong. I have come to understand that no one loss is ever the same, but the pain can be shared. Our RoadPeace family welcomed us with open arms and open hearts. They say Freddie’s name loudly and proudly, alongside us. The strength, resilience, and compassion within this group are nothing short of remarkable. We share our unfiltered thoughts, our anger, our tears, and through it all, we are held together by the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met, Lucy. Lucy, you are our pillar of strength, our voice of reason and your hugs are unmatched. You work so tirelessly and selflessly to support others it’s far too easy to forget you yourself are bereaved, with your own heart-breaking story. I am so glad that you now have Abbie by your side to share some of the burden. We are all so grateful for you both.
Though our journey is far from over and the pain at times feels insurmountable, the unwavering support of my RoadPeace family has brought light to my darkest days. With them by my side, I’ve begun to see glimmers of hope and moments of optimism for a future that once seemed impossible. Their strength has rekindled my determination, to fight for justice, to advocate for meaningful change, and to support others who, tragically, will walk a similar path. I know that the person I was before the tragedy is gone, the damage too deep, too lasting. But I cling to the hope that one day, I can rise above the pain and grief, that I can be more than just a shadow of my former self.
Today, as I stand here and share Freddie’s story, I strive to be the mother he deserves, stronger, more compassionate, and fiercely committed to honouring his memory and I am deeply grateful for the opportunity to say his name out loud. But I ask you to remember that ours is just one story, one among too many. Every life lost on our roads is a tragedy, every family left behind is forever changed. We must do more to prevent these senseless losses, to make our roads safer, and to ensure that no life, no matter how brief, is ever forgotten.
Thank you for listening, for remembering, and for allowing me to honour Freddie today.
Updated on: 19 December 2024