The family visit the coast to remember Ben
The couple with Tabby, Hector and Monty
Rosie and Ben celebrating their wedding day
Ben filled the house with happiness
VANISHE A day that started so normally for Rosie Moss and her children ended in utter tragedy
I
t’s a question some of you may well have found yourself Googling in despair, although I hope most of you haven’t, or will never have to: ‘How do you tell your children their dad is dead?’ The night I typed that into my phone, as I sat by the window, is etched onto my memory forever. Back then, I still held on to the vague glimmer of hope that Ben, my husband, was still alive, perhaps suffering amnesia or too injured to call. But in the months since that day, me and my children, Monty, now nine, Hector, seven, and Tabitha, two, have been forced to accept a new kind of reality, one their Dad isn’t part of.
It was one evening in March 2018 when Ben asked me if I’d be OK looking after the kids while he went scuba diving the following day. Tabby, our youngest, was only six months old, so I’d have my hands full, but I didn’t mind. Ben had loved scuba diving since we’d tried it on our honeymoon in July 2008. After that, he’d 26
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taken it up as a hobby and got very good at it, only after we started a family, opportunities to head out to sea had become less, and I knew how much Ben wanted to get back in the water. When he left the next morning, I kissed him goodbye and made a jokey comment, warning him to be back in time to help put the kids to bed. As the day drew on, I started preparing dinner – spaghetti bolognese – for when Ben returned, and bathed the kids. When I checked the time and realised it was 6.30pm, I felt a flash of annoyance. Ben should’ve been back by now, instead I was having to wrestle three children into pyjamas by myself. It was then I heard a knock on the door. I told the boys, then seven and five, to finish getting ready for bed while I grabbed Tabby and headed downstairs, thinking maybe Ben had forgotten his keys. But when I saw the two police officers on the doorstep, and they asked if I was Ben’s wife, panic flooded me.
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‘There must’ve been an accident,’ I thought, showing the officers into the lounge. Had Ben crashed his car on the way home? Only, they explained that Ben hadn’t returned from his scuba dive, and that he was missing, presumed dead. With Tabby still in my arms, I let out a howl like a wild animal. The officers explained that Ben had been diving off the coast near St Margaret’s Bay in Dover, around 45 minutes from our home. He’d last been seen by a friend who he’d been diving with around 11.30am, but hadn’t returned. The coastguard had been leading a search, but he’d been missing for hours.
Coming to terms As I listened to them talking about Ben, it felt surreal. How could my husband have gone missing at sea? He was competent, a strong swimmer. It didn’t make sense. With my parents on holiday, I asked the officers to call my friend Vikki, 39, while I tried to compose myself before going to check on the boys. Somehow I managed to get the children into bed, but as I retreated to my bedroom, I knew there was no way I’d sleep. Instead, I sat by the window, looking up at the night sky,
