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Monday, August 4, 2008

August 4, 1998: Another family mourns

Ten years ago today, another local family was in mourning for their son, husband & father. When I went to the hospital for my six-month appointment on Wednesday, August 5, 1998, the news was full of stories about a young Toronto policeman who had been brutally murdered the night before. Just 32 years old, father of a 4-year-old daughter & expecting a son in September, he was stabbed by two homeless, drug-addicted women while on an undercover stakeout (as it turned out, while his partner was in a bar, drinking when he should have been on the job).

The story was all over the news for the next several days (& weeks, & months, as the trial played out) and, as I wrestled with my own grief over the loss of my baby, I couldn't help but feel keenly for another family whose own simultaneous tragedy was splashed prominently all over the media for all to see. Here I was, a mother without my baby; here was a woman without a husband, carrying a baby (approximately the same age my daughter would have been) who would never know his father.

The funeral was held on Monday, August 10, 1998 -- a grey, humid, clammy, rainy day -- in the suburb where I live. It has one of the larger churches in the area, which was needed to accommodate the thousands of police officers who flew in from all over North America -- one of North America's largest-ever police funerals. Even so, most of them wound up standing outside in the adjacent schoolyard. The service was broadcast on local television.

The following day, dh, my mother & I went to a local funeral home to make arrangements to have our daughter cremated, and for a memorial service. The funeral home sent us to the cemetery a few miles up the road to pick out a plot. The salesman mentioned they had handled their biggest funeral ever the previous day. "The policeman's funeral?" I said & he nodded.

I'm not sure how we found it -- I guess the freshly dug earth was a clue -- but we found the policeman's grave, shortly after our daughter's funeral. It's not very far from where she is, and a headstone appeared shortly afterward that is visible from the road. There is a granite bench there, inscribed with the names of his two children, & always an abundance of flowers & golf balls left there by family & friends.

In another coincidence, the park across the street from the community centre where our pregnancy loss support group meets -- in the neighbourhood where he grew up & lived -- is named after him. I've told this story to our support group clients over the years (most of whom also live in the area), & several of them have told me they knew him.

Every August 7th, when I take pink roses to Katie's niche, I draw one flower out of the bouquet & take it over to the policeman's grave. Dh thinks I shouldn't, that the family probably wonders where it's coming from -- but I feel compelled to recognize this family's loss in some way, tied in my memory so closely to my own loss.

His daughter would be a teenager now; his son (like my daughter) would be coming up to his 10th birthday this fall. As I mark my own 10th "anniversary" of grief this week, I wonder how they are doing. I have not forgotten.

15 comments:

  1. What a terrible coincidence. I can see why he is still in your thoughts.
    Our son is buried in a baby section of our cemetery. Whenever I am there, I go check on the graves of all the babies who died the same year. I actually knew the mother of one of them a long-long time ago-- she was a cousin of a friend. I've never yet run into any other family at the cemetery, but I keep wondering if I ever will.

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  2. I am so sorry again. It's very kind of you to do that for the policeman. I am sure his family is touched every time they see the flowers.

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  3. A memory is so powerful. I am sure the family would appreciate not only the flower but also that fact that you have not forgotten.

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  4. This month holds painfully similar memories for both of us. As always, thinking of you this week and keeping you and dh in my prayers.

    I think it is a beautiful gesture - giving one of Katie's roses.

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  5. Beautiful post. I sometimes think a profound sense of empathy is the only positive thing to come from loss.

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  6. I sincerely wish that I could give you a hug. This must be incredibly hard. And you are in my thoughts.

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  7. Thinking of these families this week, as the loss is marked again.

    May Katie shine her love on you especially brightly this week, LoriBeth.

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  8. Oh, what a post, Loribeth. It made me tear up... I think a flower for the policeman is a beautiful thing to do.

    I will be thinking of you this week... holding you and Katie in my thoughts.

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  9. I am so drawn to your blog; you have such a way with words. I have never commented before, but I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for your loss. I can't fathom a pain greater than losing a child.

    I think what you do for that policeman touches their family more than you can imagine.

    When I am having a bad day and forget about the kindness of strangers, I am always going to think of you putting one of Katie's flowers on his grave. It is one of the most thoughtful & selfless things I have heard in a long time.

    Thank you for sharing that story.

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  10. I think it's lovely you put a flower on his grave. I'm sure that his family appreciates the gesture.

    How sad; thank you for sharing that memory with us.

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  11. I'm holding you two in my heart tonight knowing how hard tomorrow will be.

    I think it's beautiful that you give that flower to the policeman. And think you need to honour the memories that are so tightly wrapped around others.

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  12. I have goosebumps. What a coincidence that the policeman should end up buried in the same cemetary as your daughter. I think it is such a considerate thing that you should leave one of Katie's pink roses with him each year. Although the family may wonder who it is from, I am certain that are very appreciative that someone continues to remember his life. It's a beautiful thing, really.

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  13. Thank you for sharing that story: I am sorry to hear of your loss and the family's loss of their husband/father. I'm sure they would be very touched to know that 10 years later you still think of them.

    *hugs*

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  14. What a kind and beautiful gesture. This was a very touching post.

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  15. What a beautiful thing to do, Loribeth. I bet their family is so completely grateful, and who knows -- maybe they noticed another presence there around the same time, too.

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