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This one's for you, Cassie

Lost and heartbroken, I had to find a fitting legacy for your needless death...


Published by: Laura Hinton
Published on: 21 February 2013

Walking into the empty house, the silence was deafening. There was no loud music blaring out. No dirty dishes piled in the sink. Any mum of a teenager might have relished the peace and quiet. To me, it was agonising.
In my hand was a paper bag containing your clothes, Cassie. It was the outfit you'd had on six months earlier - on the day you died. You were just 16.
‘I'll be fine,' I'd promised the liaison officer as he handed over the bag.
I took a deep breath as I delved into the bag. As I pulled your pumps out, I was overwhelmed by the cheesy smell.
‘Oh my god, Cassie!' I laughed. ‘How could I forget your stinky feet?' Your shoes had been festering away in there for ages and I knew you'd have been mortified!
But then I felt guilty for laughing. And tears tumbled down my cheeks as it hit me all over again - my beautiful daughter was never coming back.
We were best friends. When we moved to Colchester, Essex, your brother Sam, 21, moved in with your dad Graham, so it was just us two.
On Sundays we'd often laze in bed until lunchtime and then have long bubble baths before changing into clean pyjamas. Then we'd watch your Harry Potter DVDs and cook dinner.
We loved shopping together too and I'd treat you to new clothes from your favourite shop, River Island. Like most teens, you loved fashion and pop music but you also had big ambitions in life.
You were studying for your AS levels and dreamed of becoming a lawyer. With your strong sense of right and wrong, it seemed like the perfect fit.
‘I'd never defend someone I knew was guilty, Mum,' you said, seriously.
I was so proud, knowing you were destined for big things. That was until that day in February 2011 when my world came crashing down.
It was around 9am and I was in the pharmacy waiting for a prescription when a woman walked in, all shaken up.
‘I've just witnessed a horrific accident down the road,' she spluttered.
The poor family, I thought.
But then, two police officers came through. ‘Your daughter has been in a car accident,' one of them told me. ‘She's been airlifted to hospital.'
As we sped there at 120mph, I joked about our speed. I think I was still in denial about what was happening.
At hospital, you were on life support.
‘She's suffered serious head injuries,' a doctor explained.
Even then, I tried to hold it together. Sam and Graham arrived and I wanted to be strong for them.
But, hours later, we'd heard those words you never want to hear from a doctor.
‘It's not looking good,' he warned. The following morning, tests confirmed there was no brain activity.
‘I can't believe it,' I sobbed, clutching your hand. ‘We all love you so much.'
Before we turned off your life support machine, we were asked if we'd consider organ donation.
‘Of course,' I said, knowing it's what you would have wanted.
I couldn't believe it was really happening. It was only when a police officer came to see me that everything clicked into place.
‘The driver is still alive but very poorly,' he explained. ‘His name is Colin Horsfall and he's 87.' Then came the final blow... ‘He refused to surrender his license even though he'd failed an eye test after an accident three days ago.'
‘What a selfish, selfish man,' I gasped. I felt angry and heartbroken all at the same time.
Apparently, he used a walking frame and couldn't see 20 yards in front of him. He'd mounted the pavement and hit you as you walked to college, after pressing the accelerator instead of the brake.
He clearly shouldn't have been behind the wheel. But why didn't the police have the power to do anything?
At that point though, my energy was focused on mourning for Cassie.
I chose a white coffin and your friends wrote messages on it at the chapel of rest.
At the service, we played songs by Example and Don't Stop Believing from Glee. For a minute, I was back at home, rolling my eyes at Cassie as the same tunes pumped away upstairs. Everyone wore purple, your favourite colour, and placed purple irises on your coffin.
Three months after the crash, Colin Horsfall died from his injuries. Police had told him of your death, but I never received an apology.
Weeks later, on your 17th birthday, we lit Chinese lanterns in the garden. We found out your organs had gone to a mum in her 30s, a doctor, a soldier serving in Afghanistan, a man in his 40s and a five-year-old boy. It was some comfort, knowing that you lived on through them.
Somehow, I struggled on but as well as the overwhelming pain, I was experiencing another emotion - frustration.
You wouldn't have died if the police had been able to take Colin Horsfall off the road immediately. Thinking about your strong sense of justice, I knew you'd have been outraged. And I realised what I had to do.
Me, Sam, your friends and Wendy Brading, a local reporter, started a petition for Cassie's Law, giving police the power to ban unfit drivers immediately. We contacted our MP and local newspapers and me and Sam took to the streets to collect signatures. As I told people your story, it felt as if you were there alongside me.
Six months later, the inquest was held. The coroner recorded a verdict of unlawful killing. A police officer told the court that three days before you'd died, he'd spent two hours trying to convince Colin Horsfall to give up his license after his previous accident. I was so angry.
On your 18th birthday, me and Sam went to Frinton-on-Sea, one of your favourite places, and sat on the beach, drinking a bottle of fizz. ‘Here's a toast to Cassie,' I said, tears in my eyes.
‘I miss her,' Sam sighed, as we recalled your life. Every memory was comforting and devastating at the same time.
After a year of campaigning, we'd collected 45,000 signatures and presented Cassie's Law to parliament. Just three months later, the Department for Transport made an announcement - and we were overwhelmed.
They were changing their system so police could phone or email the DVLA to revoke a license in minutes, rather than putting the request in writing.
‘I can't believe we've done it,' I said, hugging Sam.
But we knew our victory belonged to you, Cassie.
Nothing will ever bring you back. There isn't a day when I don't think about you. Sometimes I walk past River Island and think of popping in to get you something. Then I remember you're not here.
I carry a TicTac box with some of your ashes in my handbag. It might sound odd, but it comforts me having you close.
My next step is to campaign for compulsory re-testing for drivers over a certain age. Everything I've done in your name means I'm not just a lost and grieving mum anymore, I'm a campaigner. I couldn't achieve anything if it wasn't for you, Cassie. You always were and always will be my inspiration.

• To sign Jackie's new petition, visit http://epetitions.direct.gov.uk/petitions/45559.
Jackie Rason, 52, Ipswich, Suffolk