Lost in Grief

I had a dream, a simple dream or so I thought. I dreamt of having children and raising a family. I learned, however, that this would never happen for me. It was with unimaginable but tenuous joy that we nurtured our two pound fifteen ounce miracle baby boy, Corey. His first five weeks of life were spent in the intensive care nursery and provided us with a strong sense of life's frailty. Thus began our normal life. Corey grew well and strong and we were so enthralled by parenthood that in the coming years, Corey was joined by two sisters. The events of childrearing completely engulfed us. Our move to Canada's west coast set the stage for constant interaction with all things natural. The kids loved the untamed wild freshness of all that Vancouver Island had to offer. The term nuclear family seemed appropriate--Tom and I at the centre and the children whirling around us, growing at a dizzying speed. We lost track of time. Normal lasted nineteen years, two months and twenty-two days. The hospital phoned. Corey had been in a car crash. In emergency mode, we raced to the hospital. We could handle this after countless childhood calamities. One very long soul-draining day later, we held our miracle baby Corey, with an ear to his chest and listened to his last breath, his last heartbeat. Have you ever in your darkest nightmares dared allow your thoughts to flirt for a moment with the panic that your own child's death would unleash? Can you imagine the indescribable hell into which you would be plunged so deeply, so quickly, so irrevocably? For many years now, I have been trapped inside this nightmare. This is my story.