Loss

Are you looking for advice on how to cope with loss? If so, have you found any? Because you're not going to find it here.

Right now, I'm in the "FURY" stage of loss and this is what's sustaining me. I know I'll pay for this rage later, but now it's a fire in my gut that propels me through the planning stages.

Monday night, my husband and I learned that his brother was in a fatal snowmobile crash. Simon was the "fatal" part of that collision. I'm furious at the waste of it all.

The investigation into the crash is ongoing and I hate to think of my loved one undergoing an autopsy, but in accidents you don't have much choice.

When Simon heard his snow machine engine roar and felt the wind buffeting his helmet, he couldn't know what was in store for him and the other party when he chose that time and place to ride. He couldn't know the profound pain to which he was exposing the hearts of those who loved him. He was probably thinking that it was a lovely evening for a ride on the river.

I don't know what he was thinking. But you know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking that I'm never going to forget the sight and sound of my husband weeping over his brother's body in that Shawville, Quebec hospital. Or the sound of his mother's scream through the phone when she heard the news.

I'm thinking of how tanned Simon's skin was from his recent trip to Mexico and how he looked like he was sleeping. I'm thinking of how the only injury I could see was the scab on his giant callused hand he got from doing some sort of engine repair. In fact, I remember him gingerly washing that hand when he was over for dinner the week before.

I'm thinking that when my daughters learn about the pain of loss, it should be the loss of a very elderly relative whose time had come and not their beloved Uncle Si.

I'm thinking of how much my husband loves his brother.

I'm thinking of his mother and father and how outliving a child is the worse thing that can happen to a person. Ever.

I'm thinking of the 10-year-old boy who witnessed the crash, his father's and Simon's injuries and went for help.

But you know what I really want to think? I want to think that in his final moments, Simon knew how much he was loved and how much we would miss him.