For the past 32 months, life for the Birch family of Napier has been "in limbo", with husband and father John a tetraplegic in a Napier rest home. The grieving and huge sense of loss felt by wife Anne and children Vanessa, Matthew, Sarah and Evelyn on the day of the crash that paralysed John is just as raw today.
"It doesn't go away," Anne said.
"When you see John, it is a permanent reminder." There is another, persistent reminder, in John's room. In the weeks before that tragic day, Sarah, nine, and Evelyn, 11, had attended Girl Guides and made special Father's Day gifts.
"They are still in his room. They haven't been opened because he can't open them," Anne said.
"Evelyn will come in crying sometimes, and just wants to be cuddled. They miss their Dad so much."
Anne stoically deflected attention away from what had clearly been an immense emotional battle, saying her concern was for the children, because it had shattered the lives of the two youngest girls. One day they had a father who laughed and played with them. The next they had a father who would never walk, talk or be able to feed himself again. John has hearing, but limited vision.
"The children have not had a normal life for nearly three years," Anne said.
"They have seen hospitals and rest homes. It has been very upsetting for them."
And the one thing she and the family want back in their lives has still not happened: "We want him back home."
The sorrow on her face was replaced by visible anger, then frustration, as she considered how the wheels set in motion to get John back home so long ago had effectively stalled. She pointed toward the special extension built onto their Taradale home to accommodate John.
"It was finished a year ago."
Convoluted dealings with ACC and health agencies had caused as much stress as her husband's condition. Just getting John's room approved was a gruelling exercise, taking months.
There were mistakes in the initial plans, which led to cost overruns. So there had to be more consultation, more phone calls and e-mails through a "sea of red tape".
She found walls of bureaucracy had sprung up everywhere. She wanted help with the children at home, because she was spending so much time visiting and caring for her disabled husband. But her plea for an allowance was dismissed: It was deemed that looking after her children was her normal role as a mother.
"But if it had been me who was injured, John would have got the help. We are both the parents of the girls, for God's sake."
She also had to go to court to become her husband's legal guardian: "The marriage certificate was not enough."
There are frequent tears when Anne talks. Her battles with bureaucracy and the grim, everyday acceptance that the dreams and plans she and John had were gone forever, have left her exhausted.
Brothers-in-law Ivan Birch and Dave Maunsell are angry.
"We don't feel Anne has been properly looked after by ACC or the health system," Dave said. "A normal person would have given up, but she is extraordinary."
Anne says she has her good days - "but I have my down days ... but on those days, I have two children who will come and get me out of bed".
Her family and friends have been hugely supportive, and the members of the Ulysses Motorcycle Club often call to see John. They even got together and paid for his latest club membership.
He'd always loved motorcycles, and for a brief time, after an earlier crash, thought about hanging up his helmet "but he just couldn't", Anne said.
John had owned several bikes, mainly sports models, and ridden tens of thousands of kilometres throughout New Zealand.
He once said he was going for a quick burst up the road and turned up seven hours later, after having gone up to Taupo, then down the Desert Road. It had been a nice day.
The last bike he bought was more practical for taking Anne with him on the back. But she never got the chance. Three weeks after buying the Honda 900 Hornet, John and Ivan set out for Auckland to catch up with brother Craig. They took it easy through the foothills and into Te Pohue. Within a minute of passing the village, John's life effectively was over. In a second, maybe less.
"There was no warning. He wouldn't have known a thing," Ivan said, adding he had ridden by the accident site only a couple of seconds earlier.
Police later found that John hadn't even had a chance to brake. The slip silently crashed down, dragging a tree with it, which struck him a massive blow to the head.
"His helmet was still intact. There were only a couple of scratches on it," Ivan said.
The impact closed John's brain down. All Ivan could do was kneel by his motionless brother and work to keep his airways clear until help arrived. Within 30 minutes John was helicoptered to Hawke's Bay Hospital, but the prognosis was not good.
"The family were effectively told to say goodbye," Ivan said.
While Anne was surrounded by friends and family throughout that terrible day, she recalls only sensing their presence and being told her "man with the strong heart and with such a huge love of life" had only a 5 percent chance of survival.
What followed were 11 months of commuting to Auckland each fortnight to see John at a brain-injury unit. But Anne brought him back to the Bay because she felt he was too often left alone and she believed he needed more one-on-one work - "I wanted him home".
In Hawke's Bay, there is no brain-rehabilitation facility for people like John (and about 30 others Anne reckons), so he has lived in rest homes.
She praises Otatara Rest Home and its staff who, she says, have been "brilliant" in caring for John.
"They love him. They pop in and chat to him. They told me John was a great listener," she said and smiled - but only for a brief moment.
"We lost all out dreams ... all our future".
Grieving family's one wish: `We want him back home'
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