Whatever happened to... Rose Yates who lost 3 children in a fire?
Rose and Megan just after the fire that killed 3 of Rose's children
Monday 6th August 2007
Time's a great healer. Every cloud has a silver lining. Life goes on. Clichés yes, but undoubtedly true. For every bleak moment where you think you'll never smile again, there will be another in the future where you'll laugh until it hurts. I should know.
In August 2003, I went through the worst thing any mother can imagine. I lost three of my children in a house fire, and my 2-year-old granddaughter, Megan, was left fighting for her life. I was the only one who managed to escape unhurt.
When it happened, I was still grieving for my son, Gary, 18, who'd died in June the year before. He'd been struggling with depression. As the baby of the family, we'd always been close. But it wasn't enough and he died of an overdose of anti-depressants.
It'd hit us all hard, but my daughter Gail, 27, knew how heartbroken I was.
'I'm here for you, Mum,' she'd told me.
She was a single mum, so her and Megan moved in with me and her dad, Eddie, 57. Having a boisterous toddler around had really cheered me up. I'd watch Noddy videos with her
or plait her blonde hair. They'd been living with us for two months when disaster struck.
I'd tucked Megan into bed, then said goodnight to my other children, Joanne, 22, and Lee, 18, who also lived with me, and went to my downstairs bedroom. Eddie was away for the night,
so I went straight to sleep. But three hours later, I woke to the sound of breaking glass.
Tiptoeing into the hall, I expected to see a burglar but it was a million times worse. Huge flames leapt up the stairs and smoke filled the air.
'Kids!' I screamed.
I edged towards the fire but the heat was unbearable. Running out on the street, I screamed for help.
'My children are trapped!' I shrieked.
What happened next was a blur. Someone calling 999… the crackle of flames… screams. All I could do was stand and stare at the glow coming from Gail's bedroom. I sank to my knees and threw up.
A neighbour, Dawn Ryan, 44, took me into her house but all I could think about was my children. Half-an-hour later, my worst fears were confirmed.
'I'm sorry, but Lee, Joanne and Gail didn't survive,' a fire officer told me.
Dear God, no.
'And Megan?' I asked.
'She's badly burnt,' he told me. 'But she's on her way to hospital.'
I'd lost three children, but my granddaughter was alive.
'But how?' I sobbed.
'We found Gail's body curled over Megan,' the firefighter explained. 'She protected her from the flames.'
My daughter had given her life for her little girl.
I wasn't allowed to see Megan straight away, so I spent the night sobbing on Dawn's settee.
Someone had phoned Eddie and our other children, Anthony, 25, and Kerry, 22, who didn't live at home. We were like the walking dead as we drove to Newcastle General Hospital the next morning. Then we saw Megan.
She was wrapped from head to toe in bandages, her golden hair singed to the root and her face had literally melted. She was on a ventilator and heart monitor.
'No…' I whispered.
'Megan's very ill,' the doctor told us. 'We don't know if she'll make it, but if she does, she's likely to be brain damaged.'
For the next 10 days, I sat and held Megan's bandaged hand. I looked at her little body, bruised and burnt, unrecognisable from the little whirlwind who'd run around my living room.
'She's stable,' the doctor said after a month. 'We want to start the skin grafts.'
I was terrified. Her body was so damaged. Could it handle surgery? Over the next two months, she had three operations. Skin was taken from her right arm, back and bottom, and grafted onto her face and body. Slowly, she started to recover.
In December 2003, four months after the fire, she was transferred to James Cook University Hospital in Middlesbrough. She was taken off the ventilator and, for the first time since the fire, I could cuddle her.
'Megan,' I whispered, as she looked at me with her big, blue eyes. 'You're going to get better.'
'Nana,' she croaked.
Tears streamed down my face.
'That's right, darling,' I said. 'It's Nana.'
Over the next few months, Megan got stronger. Three months later, she finally asked the question I was dreading.
'Where's Mummy?' she said.
I took a deep breath.
'The angels have taken her to heaven with Lee and Joanne,' I said.
Megan frowned.
'Will they look after her?' she asked me.
I nodded and she smiled.
In May 2004, the inquest recorded an open verdict. We'll never know for sure what caused the fire. So we looked to the future. With the help of some physiotherapy and a walking frame, Megan began to toddle.
Finally in September 2004, after a year, Megan was allowed home. Twice a day, I smothered her in E45 cream, and she had to go to the hospital every week. And in September last year, Megan started at Pennyman Primary School. I was worried the other kids might laugh at Megan's scars or her walking frame. All day I was beside myself. I got to the bus stop half-an-hour early.
But she was grinning.
'It was fun, Nana,' she said.
I should have known that nothing would faze my little fighter.
Every day she still surprises me.
I've lost so much, and been pushed to the very brink of sanity, but do you know what? Her mum might have saved her life, but that little girl is saving mine every day.
Every week, Pick Me Up revisits someone who made the news headlines. Check out our other fascinating go-backs
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