Heal My Broken Heart

Heal My Broken Heart

MONICA HOFER

To Ike and Matt with love,

in loving memory of our Jordi,

and to all the Orphans in the Storm

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prologue – The Solace of Angels

Part 1: Premonitions

Chapter 1: Adventure Calls – April 2000

Part 2: The Accident

Chapter 2: Black Days in July

Chapter 3: The Hospital

Chapter 4: Ike’s Arrival

Chapter 5: Oh My Son, My Son

Chapter 6: Broken

Chapter 7: The Memorial Service

Chapter 8: Going Home

Chapter 9: The Viewing

Chapter 10: The Funeral – The Final Goodbye

Chapter 11: After the Sad Goodbye

Part 3: Shock and Brief Encounters with Hope

Chapter 12: The Tree, The Shock

Chapter 13: The Undeniable – My Spirit Helpers

Chapter 14: The Cardinal – Jordi’s First Christmas

Chapter 15: Reminders and Constant Goodbyes

Chapter 16: I Will Always Remember You

Chapter 17: The Long Awaited Reply – Early December 2000

Chapter 18: The First Christmas – What Comfort? What Joy?

Chapter 19: In Another’s Hands

Chapter 20: Facing the New Year Without Jordi – 2001

Chapter 21: Early January 2001

Part 4: Cut to the Core

Chapter 22: Mid January 2001

Chapter 23: The Gift – February 2001

Chapter 24: Time Spoke of Him

Chapter 25: O Month of March

Chapter 26: As I Grieved

Chapter 27: O Month of May – My Present Everest

Chapter 28: Abandoned by All – June 2001

Part 5: Hope Restored

Chapter 29: He Came to Me

Chapter 30: Whatever the Future Holds, Mom – The Second Year

Chapter 31: My Cross, My Cross

Chapter 32: I’ll Always Love You, Mom

Chapter 33: Serenity

Chapter 34: A Steady Comfort – Jordi’s Birth Month – March 2002

Chapter 35: Where Dragons Are Slain

Chapter 36: The Other Angel

Chapter 37: On Still Pond – August 2002

Chapter 38: Beyond the Fear

Chapter 39: I Loved Those Beasts

Chapter 40: Hope’s Faint Call – Another Year – 2003

Chapter 41: That Place

Chapter 42: Homeward Bound

Chapter 43: On the Outside Looking In – 2004

Chapter 44: Some Do – Five Years Later

Chapter 45: One More Time, Mom

Chapter 46: To Wait In the Face of Stillness – July 2006

Chapter 47: There in the Way – 2007/2008

Chapter 48: Let Them Comfort You

Poem: Time Speaks of You

About the Author

Acknowledgments

Prologue

The Solace of Angels

Come to me, my angel, I wept, a thick stream of tears trailing down the bridge of my nose. It had been so long since I had cried that hard. Heartbroken, I stood before his headstone pleading for a sign. Perhaps it would come to me that very afternoon. Maybe as I entered the apartment to the baby shower for Jake I would find a penny, as I so often had in a most desperate time of need; a perfectly timed penny—there had been so many—would surely make things better. At least that was my hope as I stood crying out for comfort.

After ten years I still yearned to have my son with me. How could I still be hurting so deeply? Could it be because I would soon be in the presence of a new baby in the family? Surely this must be what was stirring up my pining for my own child and what had drawn me to the cemetery that sunny afternoon.

Come to me, I entreated once again, when suddenly, a tiny Monarch butterfly startled me as it fluttered hurriedly and erratically between me and the headstone before flying off in the opposite direction. I had never seen such a tiny butterfly.

This is my story of love, laughter, heartbreak and loss, and the ensuing days, months and years of healing from intense grief following the death of my son.

Beyond any shadow of a doubt, I have experienced the solace of angels and wish you the comfort I have known.

Premonitions

1

Adventure Calls – April 2000

"The move was the start of a new life for us,

in a new province and a new home…" M.H.

The children scampered up the soft carpeted stairs of our new home, a beautiful, crisp townhouse set in a recently built development in the City of Maple, Ontario, a stone’s throw from Canada’s Wonderland, a huge roller coaster theme park and major tourist attraction.

Before our move from Winnipeg, I had worried that my two adorable sons would be apprehensive about leaving the only home they had ever known to venture with Ike and me to this unfamiliar city north of Toronto, but Matt and Jordi soon became thrilled about the idea of living so close to Wonderland.

The move was the start of a new life for us, in a new province and a new home within walking distance of Canada’s largest playground. It seemed an ideal place to raise our little boys. Matt, the eldest, then age seven, was so excited to be able to see the roller coasters from the bedroom he shared with his little brother, Jordi, who had turned four shortly before the move. Their lovely picture window overlooked the quaint crescent below.

One afternoon, shortly after moving, Jordi and I sat in the kitchen having our lunch. Worried that he might be missing his friends back home as much as I was missing mine, I sensitively inquired, Jordi, do you miss your friends in Winnipeg? He replied quickly and matter-of-factly, I’ll make new friends. Having expected a tearful display, I was surprised at his response and my anxious heart was immediately set at ease.

316 Melayna Crescent, I repeated to Matt and Jordi. That’s your new address to memorize now.

The boys made friends quickly on a street where it seemed each family had at least one son. There were boys everywhere on this small crescent; kind children, friendly and welcoming to Matt and Jordi, even though Jordi was considerably younger. The acceptance was a warm reception to our new town, our new home.

Soon after moving in, I shared a good laugh with some of the neighbourhood moms. Three of us stood in our driveway on a sunny spring day exchanging stories about the personality traits of our children. During the conversation, Josie and I discovered we each had a Leo baby, King Baby, as the Leo child is referred to in the horoscope books. Excited, Josie ran home to get an article she had saved on the subject. She returned and read excerpts about Leo babies, how they are strong-willed, determined, daring and energetic, and lovers of attention, born leaders, kings of the household, headstrong, and prone to tantrums when they don’t get their way. After Josie said this described her oldest boy to a T, I chuckled momentarily, wondering whether I should admit it, then did, That sounds like my oldest, too—Matthew. We smiled, instantly bonding in our exchanged look, which conveyed countless unspoken mutual encounters we’d each had with our respective little Leo, our King Baby.

Josie then read excerpts about the little Pisces child, which she said described her youngest son: gentle, kind-hearted, dreamer, deep, empathetic, patient, calm, incredibly adaptable and resilient. That sounds just like Jordi, I said. He’s a Pisces, too! I was amazed that we would each have two boys born under the same Zodiac signs.

Maple was proving to be a good fit for us with its friendly, hospitable neighbours. Our first day in the new home, two children Matt’s age came to visit, a brother and sister whom I later learned were twins. What a sense of satisfaction and relief I felt at seeing all four children on the living room floor playing Yu-Gi-Oh cards. It was comforting to see that Matt and Jordi had made friends so quickly.

Without a vehicle of my own and with the goal of familiarizing myself with our new neighbourhood, during the first few weeks while Matt attended school, I took frequent walks up and down the deserted streets of Maple, with Jordi observing our new city from the comfort of his stroller. Our first walks emphasized my acute feelings of loneliness. I had to admit it, I was homesick.

As I opened the front door to our home after returning from one of our many such strolls, Jordi exclaimed, Thank you, Lord, for this day! His expressions occasionally left me speechless, this being one of those times. I wasn’t in the habit of referring to God as Lord and had only used the expression once, a week earlier, as we entered the house after one of our walks. Jordi remembered those words, and as he parroted them it brought a smile to my lips. I wondered, Could it be that already, at such a young age, just barely four years old, he was truly learning to be thankful? Did he really understand the meaning of what he was saying?

Jordi was your typical four-year-old in many ways, and yet quite remarkable in other ways. He did the things Matt had done at that age, like running naked into the street any chance he got, wearing only blue rubber rain boots—the same ones his older brother had worn five years earlier, when as a toddler, Matt had run naked into the streets of Winnipeg.

It was a sunny afternoon shortly after our move to Maple and Matt burst into the house shouting, Mom! Mom! Jordi’s dancing naked on the car! I sped out of the house to find him cavorting atop our vehicle in nothing but his hand-me-down blue rubber rain boots. Embarrassed, I quickly summoned him down from the top of the car, and working hard to suppress a smile swiftly carried him into the house feeling entirely at a loss to understand what it was about boys and clothing, and their frequent aversion to wearing any. Such is but a glimpse of some of the joys of parenthood for a mother of two little boys—the mischief was endless.

At age 3, Jordi had amazing insight. One day when living in Winnipeg, we sat at the table together as he ate his lunch. I looked out the window and sang aloud a song about love and going where it is, when Jordi suddenly interrupted my song and began pointing on the tabletop with his index finger. Tapping hard and repeatedly on the surface with his forefinger while keeping his eyes on the table, he warned, Don’t do it, Mom. Then in staccato, still tapping in sequence with each word, he stated with authority, Love—is—right—here—and—I—love—you.

From my chair, I examined his finger, worried he might have hurt himself tapping so hard. I waited for tears, but all was well, the finger still intact. I later realized this finger tapping was something he had learned from his Grandma Sarah, whom he loved dearly.

A few days before leaving Maple for a trip to Winnipeg in early July 2000, the boys were playing outside. Matt, who always loved working with his hands, had tied a plastic skipping rope to the back of his bicycle and fastened it to Jordi’s stroller. It was quite the feat of engineering for a seven-year-old, although in no time Matt came running into the house shouting, Mom! Mom! Jordi fell! Jordi fell!

Jordi rarely injured himself at play, unlike Matthew, who as a toddler would run with reckless abandon around the house, bang his head, stop to cry, let Mommy kiss it better, then run off again undaunted, just as fast and furious as before. The bruises were appearing so often that my mother-in-law began to frown and comment when Matt arrived regularly at family Friday night dinners sporting one goose egg after another.

The bruises, injuries and near-death incidents seemed to occur continually at our home, as well as in our many travels with the children; falls out of the shopping cart, near drownings and slips into hot tubs. On our last night in Winnipeg before moving to Ontario, we stayed in a hotel near the airport. While walking beside the large pool, Jordi let go of my hand, ran ahead, and jumped into the deep end. I hurried towards him and bent to scoop him out as he bobbed and panicked, flailing his arms. He thought he could swim. My brother, Ed, had once told me that children at age four still have that magical thinking. It was at that age that Matt had once run into oncoming traffic outside Grandma and Grandpa’s home as we were making our way to our parked car. We all yelled, and fortunately the driver in the oncoming vehicle spotted Matt darting into the street and braked in time. When I later questioned Matt as to what he was thinking he told me casually, That’s okay mom, I was going to fly over it, like Superman.

When Matt was even younger, I would ask other moms, Is your son doorknob height yet? That was the latest in a series of household obstacles that had frequently stood in Matt’s way when he was around age three. Some moms understood, while others looked at me puzzled. They must have had more cautious children, like Jordi, who banged his head once and only once on the corner of a wall. After that he would run and then slow down as he approached that very wall, look at the corner warily, walk by it, then pick up speed after he had passed the danger zone.

The differences in the boys’ personalities were noticeable and complementary. A timid younger brother followed and idolized his more knowledgeable, fearless big brother.

I recall one day when, at three years of age, Matt had had enough of this new baby brother in his life, and noticing it was garbage day, made it clear just where he wanted this little brother to go. Let’s throw him in the garbage, he said without hesitation from his place of prominence on the loveseat. I laugh about it now, but it was no laughing matter then; Matt needed to be taken seriously. This comment demanded quick thinking. What comeback could there be to this frustration-driven comment? How would I handle this one? In that split second I had searched my heart and somehow wisdom surfaced.

You know how Kayley’s your best friend? I asked.

Yeah… he answered. Kayley was the little girl next door with whom Matt had regular play dates.

Well, you have Kayley; she’s your best friend, right?

Yeah.

"Well, Jordi, he doesn’t have any friends, he just has you. You’re his best friend in the whole world."

I watched Matt, wondering how he was taking this comment. He sat on the loveseat speechless for a few poignant moments. I thought I noticed him nod slightly, and I believe it was then that the penny dropped. He had that look of recognition. Was this the defining moment when Matt grasped the importance of his place in Jordi’s life?

In the weeks, months and years that followed, a bond was forged between the two brothers and a happy little duo ruled and conquered kingdoms together, and occasionally with Kayley, the little princess next door.

In the ensuing months and years I admired the special tenderness Matt afforded Jordi, the respect, the love. What greater reward could I ask as a mother? I watched contentedly as my little cubs played happily together.

One afternoon, Jordi, who, at the time was only a few months old, was waking up from a nap as Matt and I hovered over him. Still unable to roll over he lay on his back on our Queen-sized bed like a little bean bag and smiled, lapping up our attentiveness; Matt talked sweetly to him while I leaned on the bed by Jordi’s other side. Suddenly, Jordi clearly uttered, Daddu, smiling as he looked up at Matt, who was gazing down at him and grinning. It was the first time Jordi spoke. Daddu became the name Jordi called his big brother during the first few years of his precious little life.

And so the boys, my husband Ike, and I adjusted to life in our new town of Maple, in the City of Vaughan, The City Above Toronto, as it was often touted in ads promoting it as a fine place to live. There was excitement in the air in this burgeoning ethnic community. Melayna Crescent was a conglomeration of Italians, Poles, Arabs, Russians, Catholics, agnostics, singles, young and older married couples, and families, each of us sharing the adventure of making a new life in a new city, a new province, and for many a new country. For several neighbours, Melayna was simply a stopover until they could save enough money for a single-family home.

We