Posted by: Jody Glynn Patrick | 07/27/2015


From her mother, Hilary Clark:
My precious daughter Katja:
She left us on 16th November 2013, result of a car accident. She was nineteen, and had just been accepted into Liverpool Medical School. She was happy…. so happy! She was in love, about to travel around the world, and had proved what a superstar she was, after years of extremely hard work.
She is the eldest of my five children, and truly my soulmate, my dearest treasure. I must stay here and look after the others, who are my greatest comfort. Three lovely sons and a darling daughter. They all miss Katja so. I feel so desperately sorry for them, but I don’t know what to do. My grief and pain and longing for my Katja is unbearable. How can we bear the unbearable? How could I lose her like that? What do I do? I know nothing, nothing at all except for my love for her.
Not long before her accident, she and I had a conversation about love. She said that she knew that love never died, even when a person had gone, if you really loved someone, the love would always be there. As a scientist, she really knew that love is the strongest form of energy and has a life of it’s own.
I feel her love around me strongly. On good days this is a comfort, but the actual loss of her is too awful to look at directly. I miss you so much, my beloved girl. One day I will be with you again.


  1. My exact sentiments for my only daughter who became a angel in January 2014 aged 33 leaving three small children, I cry everyday my heart is broken beyond repair I miss Carrie so much it is unbearable every waking day without her.


  2. I received the following from a friend; Child loss is not an event, it is an indescribable journey of survival. This is so true. Everyday is a survival day after the death of my son on 07 December 2013 aged 28. He wrote on his bedroom wall : There is no such thing as good or bad days, only days filled with precious memories. Keep the memories alive and good luck with this road we share. Betty

    • Betty
      I lost my 28 year old son in Feb of 2013 and want you to know that I saw your message this morning and my heart cries with you. I pray today brings a tiny bit of rest for you.

  3. It is still impossible to believe, I mean really believe that she is not in this world with me anymore. Apart from my pain, I feel so terribly sorry for Katja’s sister and brothers.

  4. Dear Hilary, I ached for you and your family when I read your post. My precious daughter Lindsay (aged 26) was killed by her ex-boyfriend on April 5, 2013, just two weeks shy of her university graduation. He then took his own life. So much of what you have written are things that I have felt. How could I “lose” my soulmate, my most precious angel, my best friend like that? We had already been discussing his behaviour only three weeks before her murder, but had no idea how much his anger towards her for breaking off the relationship for good three months before had escalated. For months, I refused to even use the word “lose”, because I feel as if I never “lost” my daughter; I talked to her or texted with her every single day and I never lost track of her or what she was up to. We were that close. Her brother has so much sadness, and I try hard not to let him feel “less than” she was to me, but it is so hard to hide my own sadness and tears from him. Tomorrow would be her 29th birthday. It is for some reason harder than the previous ones, because she would probably be in a new phase of her life now, perhaps getting married or having children, like your Katja about to start medical school. My daughter had applied for her Master of Social Work programme the year she was killed. She still received her degree, having met all of the requirements except her final exams, but what a bitter pill to swallow to have to accept it on her behalf post-humously, when she had worked so very hard for that degree. I know what you mean about facing the loss of Katja directly. A car accident is such a tragic, sudden loss. I still cannot talk to people about Lindsay or what happened to her without breaking down in tears; I start to hyperventilate and to stutter,something I never did in my life before her death. I wish I could tell you that “it gets better” as some people try to tell us. I have been told that over time, we simply learn to cope better or we stop spending time with the people who really don’t even attempt to understand or do any research on what support or love we may need, and instead say stupid things like “you have to get through this” or “you need to move forward”, when you or I may feel we never should have had to “get through” anything in the first place or when “moving forward” signifies to us that we are somehow expected to leave our child behind in the past. I have a great deal of difficulty putting on what I call my “social mask” to go out, preferring to stay at home. The only people I find real comfort with are my son, her closest friends, my husband and all of the parents on this site who have lost their beloved, precious children. This site was one of the few places I could find anyone who could really understand. I am thinking of you today, Hilary, and all your family. (Lindsay’s story is on this site under “Our Children”.

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