THE last time I saw my sister Hollee was at the Fremantle train station. Alannis Morrisette was playing on the radio as I dropped her at the station to catch a train to go home after spending time with us during the April school holidays, 1996.
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In the end we were flown to a strange interstate city where we knew no one and we thought we might not bring Nathaniel home again.
My beautiful daughter Lily was ten and a half months old, a happy and healthy baby, when she died from pneumococcal meningitis.
At 3am the doctor came in and confirmed that Riley had pneumococcal meningitis and outlined what the treatment would be.
My very vivid memory of the grave look on the doctors faces did not fill me with a great deal of confidence, coupled with the statement that they "will do all they can".
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