‘I couldn’t breathe when I saw my son floating face down in the water’: A mum’s heart-breaking story
Nicole Hammond's two-year-old son tragically drowned
NICOLE Hammond, 46, is an internet entrepreneur who lives in Espondeilhan, France with her daughter Izzy, 10. She says:
As my two-year-old son William played while I worked on my computer in the kitchen, I could hear him babbling away. Then it all went quiet.
Even so, I didn’t think he’d go near our outdoor pool, as the gate to it was always locked. But, on this day, it wasn’t.
I was a stay-at-home mum living in the South of France with my husband Olivier, now 36, a sales executive in the wine industry.
My daughter Izzy from a previous relationship was six, and she and William doted on each other.
On that afternoon in July 2012, Izzy was at school. Suddenly aware I hadn’t heard William for a short while, I went outside.
My stomach flipped when I saw the pool gate open. I could hardly catch my breath as I spotted my son floating face-down in the water.
I ran over, breaking my flip-flops in my haste, and dragged William out. He lay lifeless, so I performed CPR, trying to remember what first aid I could.
I managed to hysterically call Olivier on my mobile, and he rang an ambulance.
I kept pumping William’s chest and breathing into his mouth until the crew arrived half an hour later.
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It felt like a lifetime, but after 90 minutes they found a pulse and William was taken by helicopter to the hospital in Montpellier.
We drove the one-hour journey there in tearful silence.
At the hospital we found William still unconscious, hooked up to monitors, and we were told they’d do a CT scan to assess any brain damage.
We were fraught with worry, but at least my son was alive.
Then we heard the news that the scan had found his brain was irreparably damaged. There was no hope.
The staff set up a bed for me so I could sleep with William for one last night.
Olivier slept in a chair and I sobbed as I felt William’s body next to mine.
The next morning I held my little boy.
A nurse suggested cutting a lock of his hair to keep, which I still take out and smell when I want to feel close to him.
The life-support machines were turned off at around 7am and William died in my arms 10 minutes later.
The rest is a blur. For the next month or two I only have hazy memories of life going on around me.
Izzy stayed with her dad in a nearby village while I grieved.
She seemed to accept what had happened, as children do, but Olivier and I struggled.
In June 2013, we began IVF to have another child, but our grief was all-consuming.
Two weeks before we were due to undergo an egg transfer, Olivier left. I was devastated.
At 43 I’d lost my son, my husband and my last chance of having a baby.
I couldn’t be around young children for months and was on antidepressants for two years.
I still dream about finding William alive, but wake bereft, realising it’s not real.
I’ll always grieve for my son, but Izzy deserves a mum.
We don’t talk about the accident, but we speak about William all the time and take presents, such as hand-decorated stones with stars and his name on and his toy cars, to his grave on his birthday and at Christmas.
I attended a bereavement workshop about doing good in your child’s name after William died. So in 2013, I set up a women’s support group on Facebook for other expats in France.
It helps with everything from illness to loss. The group has become the new binding force in my life.
While I’ll never get over William’s death, this is his legacy and I’m extremely proud of it.
