Craig's Story

When the telephone rings at 10.30pm on a Sunday evening you instinctively know that something is wrong. It is the 2 May 2004 and my eldest son, Neil, is ringing to tell me to call his brother's mobile. It seems Craig had been taken ill but his friend would explain if I ring. I'm not overly alarmed. Craig is a healthy 24 year old who lives life to the full and I suspect he has probably drunk too much and not eaten enough and suffering as a consequence. But I am wrong. I am told Craig hadn't been drinking but had suddenly collapsed and was on his way to hospital by ambulance. Trying not to panic and to be practical - it would take me at least an hour to drive to London - I check how bad the situation really is. Craig is unconscious and I really should come, I am told. I am being protected. The situation is far worse. Craig is already dead.

We arrive at the Accident & Emergency department at midnight. It has been the longest journey of my life. I am calm by nature but my instinct warns me that things aren't good. The A&E department is busy and we have the absurd problem of trying to discover the name that Craig had been registered under. To us, his family, he is Craig; to his friends in Buckinghamshire he is Stag but to his friends in London, where he lived and worked, he was Cain. To add to the confusion, he had recently adopted my late father's full name as a stage name and I had no idea which variation these friends knew. We have never met them and they don't seem to be at the hospital when we arrive. We try every variation until we hit the right one. I want to laugh at the bizarre situation.

Eventually we are silently shown into a relative's room to wait for the doctor. When he arrives, together with a nursing sister, alarm bells ring and don't stop. They appear uncomfortable and are far too polite, insisting on introducing themselves at length and us doing the same ' I just want to know how my boy is, not to go through social pleasantries. Afterwards I remember being told by someone that doctors are not trained to break bad news. It is a pity for their sakes. They must suffer such tortures.

Finally, the doctor begins by asking us questions about Craig's health and then tells us what happened, about the collapse, about the paramedics and their efforts. I interrupt and ask what we have come 60 miles to discover ' how is my son? The doctor looks at his feet and says that Craig is dead. They did their best but ¦

Craig and the other three members of the band had been rehearsing in a Soho rehearsal room. They had just struck the last notes of one of Craig's songs when he dramatically fell to the floor. Craig had a well-earned reputation for being a showman and his friends thought this was another bit of posturing on his part. But when he didn't, or wouldn't, get up they realised something serious had happened. He had stopped breathing. He was dead. His friends tried to revive him but despite their efforts, and those of the paramedics who arrived on the scene very quickly, Craig could not be saved.

I see my son for the last time in a hospital room. It's a well-worn cliché but he really does look as though he is asleep. I can't stop myself from shaking him, trying to make him wake up once more. Of course he doesn't and I kiss my son goodbye for the last time in that tiny room. I've been warned that a post mortem is necessary and I can't bear to think about that. Why he has died isn't important. He has died and now we have to find a way to live with that.

It's usual for all unexplained deaths to be investigated by the police and Craig's isn't any different. His friends make statements, and I answer many questions. His flat is sealed in a dramatic move to secure evidence that doesn't actually exist. The police are incredibly considerate and keep us informed of progress in their investigations. I have conversations with the Coroner as the first sets of tests do not reveal a cause and it is agreed that more tests must be carried out. It is a mystery but it really doesn't matter to me. It seems that heart failure is the likely cause.

The Coroner makes a great effort to find an acceptable explanation for my son's sudden death but the answer isn't obvious. There may have been any number of minor contributing factors but in reality there is no perfect conclusion. In essence his heart failed but the reasons why aren't clear. The Coroner and I have a long conversation about what might or might not be contributing factors and I am satisfied by the knowledge. He wants to provide me with a satisfactory reason ' that is his job. Months later I am told that my understanding is wrong, that the contributing factors can't have worked in the way we thought. I am shocked but it is clear now that Craig's death has to be added to the growing number of sudden, unexplained deaths of otherwise healthy young people.

Each week it is estimated that some eight young men and women, in their teens and twenties, die without apparent cause. Many, like Craig, simply drop dead without warning. Some sit down for a moment and never get up. Others die in their sleep. The unexpected and unexplained nature of their deaths adds to the shock and disbelief that families such as ours have to face. I had never heard of Sudden Adult Death Syndrome, or SADS, until my son died but have since met many people who have lost someone close in much the same way. The stories are heart-breaking. The charity C-R-Y (Cardiac Risk in the Young) does admirable work in raising awareness and encouraging cardiac screening for a sector of the population that we assume are fit and healthy. Heart problems are for old age, aren't they?

At 24 Craig had everything to live for. He was a healthy, happy man who made friends easily wherever he went. He had a zest for live, an active and enquiring mind and a heart as big as the world. He was kind and gentle but determined and often single minded, particularly when it came to his first love, rock music. A talented writer, Craig fronted a rock band with a number of his friends and wrote much of the lyrics and music they played in the local pubs of north London. By some quirky turn of fate, the latest band line-up had renamed itself 'Scarred Angels' and Craig had launched a website that provided much of the text for his obituary. One of his favourite quotes was that of James Dean: 'Dream as if you'll live forever, Live as if you'll die today.' Those words sum up Craig's approach to life and those of us who knew him have very much taken it to heart.

Losing a child is a devastating experience. To lose a son for no obvious reason is particularly difficult. There is no one to blame, nowhere to focus the anger that comes with bereavement. We require an answer, an explanation but there is no reason: he simply died. In my dark moments I wonder if maybe this or possibly could have contributed to his end. I wonder if he had lived life differently would he still be with us? I know there are no answers to my questions and that fretting over the cause won't change the facts. My beautiful son is dead and I miss him dreadfully.

Craig's dream was to be a rock star, to strut around the stage to the adoring cheers of his fans. He was a showman to his core and pursued his passion despite all obstacles and set-backs. On his death certificate the Coroner has recorded 'musician' under occupation. Craig would have got such a kick out of that. And given a choice, who could have chosen a better way to die: it was pure rock'n'roll!