My family and I were at the cabin in late July. It was a steamy Friday afternoon in Iowa. The kids were cooling off in the water, my husband was tinkering around and I was relaxing on the dock watching the kids. “Life is good.” I thought.
The phone rang. The shrill ring seemed like an annoying interruption to a peaceful afternoon. I jumped up and answered on the last ring. It was my parents calling from Canada. I found it a little strange that they called the cabin phone, they usually called the home phone.
“Hello folks.” I said. There was a lingering silence. “Hello?” I called again. I heard my dad struggling to speak. I heard my mom crying. “What’s wrong?” I asked in a panic.
My dad started again.
“There’s been an accident.”
My knees weakened. It was one of those phone calls. I sat down on the prickly grass and listened.
My brother Ike, his wife Monica and their two boys were living in a suburb of Toronto at the time. The boys, Matt and Jordi were driving with their babysitter. It was raining. She lost control of the car in a wicked downpour, she swerved, and the drivers’ side slammed into a hydro pole. Matt and another young boy were able to crawl out of the windows. The driver was hurt and unable to help. Jordi who was four and secured in place with his seat belt took the brunt of the impact. Police and paramedics were there immediately. They tried to save him, they really did. They tried.
July 28, 2000, late afternoon, my four-year-old nephew died.
What followed was shock, overwhelming sadness, phone calls to family and friends, a memorial service in Toronto, a funeral in Winnipeg and a black hole for Ike and Monica.
I could not imagine living the nightmare that my brother and his wife were living. How do you breathe, let alone function? They each struggled with the healing process. Ike poured himself into his work. Monica wrote. She wrote poems, odes and tributes. Some were about Jordi and some were about the inconceivable pain.
Eight years after Jordi’s death, she made a decision to write a book about coping with the loss of a child. The result came 12 years after his death. “Heal My Broken Heart” is her story. Below are two excerpts from her journey:
Chapter 26 – As I Grieved
At one time my heart ached so much I imagined it being yanked out of my chest like a screeching, clawing, bedraggled bird being yanked out of its cage. I felt like a rejected, repulsive mass moving along steadily, day in and day out, left disheveled by reality, beaten up, defeated. At one time a healthy vibrant bird, now unable, perhaps even unwilling, to ever fly again or dream of the day.
Chapter 38 – Beyond the Fear
… at times I yearned for my place in the grave. I longed to be taken there, where peace awaits us all. I needed a release from this noise, harsh, cruel, real. I yearned only for eternal rest.
I’ve read the book. It’s an amazing, gut-wrenching story of how one mother healed after losing her son. I have no doubt that this book will help many who grieve the loss of a child.
To order or read more … http://www.healingsoulpress.ca/index.html