Life Without Matthew.....by Dad

My Dad is a Survivor...
My dad is a survivor too...which is no surprise to me. He's always been like a lighthouse that helps you cross a stormy sea.

But, I walk with my dad each day to lift him when he's down. I wipe the tears he hides from others. He cries when no one's around.

I watch him sit up late at night, with my picture in his hand. He cries as he tries to grieve alone, and wishes he could understand.

My dad is like a tower of strength. He's the greatest of them all! But there's times when he needs to cry...Please be there when he falls.
 

Hold his hand or pat his shoulder...and tell him it's okay. Be his strength when he's sad, help him mourn in his own way.

Now, as I watch over my precious dad from the Heaven's up above...I'm so proud that he's a survivor...And, I can still feel his love!

Written by Kaye Des'Ormeaux

Tuesday, January 31, 2006:

Today is Desma's 38th birthday and I couldn't even wish her a happy birthday knowing full-well how she's been feeling lately. So when I awoke this morning, I simply wished her "Birthday".....as stupid as that sounds!

When Desma turned 37 in 2005, she had an awful time.  Not because she turned another year older and a year closer to 40, but rather she was filled with dread and foreboding that darkened her mood and depressed her.  I attributed this to the fact that her Mom had passed away at the same age.  Little did we know that two-months later, the devastation we experienced may have pointed to some sort of subconscious premonition that Desma had of the dire things that were to happen.

This year's birthday, her foreboding has been replaced with longing and grief due to Matthew's 10-month absence.  I wanted to buy her something nice for her birthday, but she insisted I get her nothing.....not even a card. Birthdays are no longer a time of celebration, rather just another special occasion that Matthew should be here to help celebrate and his absence hurts us so.  It is for this reason, neither of us want to celebrate.

Nonetheless, I wanted to do something special, so I will take her out to supper.

I worry about Desma a lot......her health, her emotional stability, her ability to regain a "new" normal life and unfortunately I am literally powerless to help her.  Although I am there for her every step of the way, her health has deteriorated significantly over the last 10-months with several minor medical conditions being exacerbated by the trauma she has gone through.  I hope with time, her body will rebound and she will begin to feel better and her medical conditions improve.

One of the big things that have impacted us and which is a common theme in our group support meetings is Matthew's lost potential. I was at Tim Horton's last evening to get a coffee and noticed something they were playing on the closed circuit TV system they use for advertising in the store.  The advertising was for the Tim Horton's Children Foundation and there was text displayed on the screen that really stuck with me.  The phrase went something like this..."Every child has the potential to do something great".  This made me think about the lost potential due to Matthew's passing.....what could Matthew have achieved if he had of lived long enough to do something.  He could have been a medical researcher who discovers the cure for Cancer, a politician who helps brokers peace or betters society in general due to his social reforms, a successful businessman, an educator, the list is endless. From the moment a child is born, irregardless of their social status, ethnic group or even health, they all have the same "stored potential" that only they can develop.

Matthew unfortunately was never given the opportunity to fully realize his potential and eventhough he is gone, the Memorial Fund is not only set-up to honor his memory but also provides Matthew the ability "to do something great" by making a total of four annual awards to other deserving children.

We both face Matthew's absence with courage and we are proud of the things that Matthew has achieved in his short life.  Although every day is a struggle and our future is bleak, we will continue to work hard to do things that will make Matthew proud of us.  One of these things is that Desma said "thanks" after I wished her a "birthday" knowing full well she could have simply decided to stay in bed for today!

Wednesday, December 28, 2005:

The very first Christmas gifts were myrrh, frankincense and gold. This year, our Christmas gifts were grief, tears and worry.  There was no tree nor decorations. Neither myself nor Desma exchanged gifts - material goods no longer mean anything to us.  Exchanging gifts at Christmas was always something we enjoyed because we could see the joy and happiness it brought to Matthew and in turn to us. This Christmas, we were just unable to do so because it was to painful.  People wish us a Merry Christmas but we have nothing to be merry about and its not much sense to wish someone "Have a Christmas".

After I arose Christmas morning, I let Desma sleep a little because we both had a horrible night's sleep.  I went to Matthew's resting place, cleared away the freshly fallen snow and let Matthew know how difficult I was finding his absence and how I wished I could change places with him.

I worry about Desma a great deal.  I see, and feel, her anguish and worry for her health. I feel utterly helpless to help her - I try to do what I can but I am afraid its not enough.  I also worry about my own health - not that it really matters to me anymore but I want to make sure I can look after Desma.

I turned 38 today - another day of happiness that has been turned to misery since it is also 9-months today that Matthew was taken from us.  Once again people wish me "Happy Birthday".....yeah right! I have nothing to be happy for. Well that's not totally correct, I can assume that 38 means my life is half-over - I guess that means something. I missed having Matthew bring me his card and gift and wishing me a happy birthday and telling me I am getting old in his joking manner. So just like Christmas, we both acted as if this was just another day with nothing special happening.  No gifts, cakes, special dinner......just the standard day-to-day activities that we have done since March 28.....put one foot in front of the other and try to get through the day so you can go to sleep.

Over the last several months, I have found it very difficult to comprehend the things lost for Matthew, or as one of our support group members calls it, "lost potential".  Christmas 2005 is just one of the first things Matthew is missing.  I also wonder what could have been - what would Matthew have pursued as a career, who his wife would have been, how many children would he have had, how successful he could have been.  The list goes on and on.

As 2006 approaches, it fills me with dread for so many reasons: the 1-year-anniversary of Matthew's death, another 365 days of being a childless parent, and of course Robert Parson's trial.  I can only hope that my strength doesn't fail me since these first 3-months of 2006 are going to be extremely difficult.

The Express published a nice article about my return to hockey and how Greg, Andrew and Jason were big deciding factors for my return.  For now it can be viewed at http://www.theexpress.ca/ but I hope to be able to upload a PDF of the article sometime soon.  In addition, the Hockey Day In Canada special about Matthew is still scheduled for airing on January 7th, 2006 and I hope to be able to post the approximate time when it will be aired during the CBC programming on that day.

I would like to thank everyone for their support to us during Christmas as well as since March 28.  Its nice to know that there are people out there who actually care about others.  Myself and Desma really appreciate it.

Thursday, October 20, 2005:

I now find myself reading the obituaries and In Memoriams in the newspaper daily - isn't it strange how morbid my life has now become.  Before Matt's death, I would concentrate on the headlines and sports pages of the paper - now I turn to the deaths and in memory pages instead.  Grief does many weird things to a person's life!

Last Saturday, I was reading the paper, the In Memoriams of course, and I read a verse that the parents of Keith Peddle (age 6) had submitted.  The verse is so fitting to me that I felt I needed to reproduce here.  It was so heartbreaking to me that it took me three attempts before I finally read it all. I have changed some of the words a little to suit my own personal feelings.

I never knew when I woke that morning,

the grief that day would bring.

For the call was sudden, the shock severe,

to part with the one I loved so dear.

No matter where I'm going,

no matter what I do,

there's never any moment,

when I do not think of you,

Only death will end my grief,

the wound to my heart is far too deep,

life goes on for some that's true,

but not for me since I lost you.

To some you may be forgotten,

to others a part of the past,

to me who loved and cherished you,

your memory will never be lost.

Your resting place I visit,

and tend your grave with care,

but no one knows the heartache,

when I have to leave you there.

The final verse is so unfathomable to those who have not lost a child.  When I visit Matt's resting place, I wish could see him, talk to him, feel him.....anything to take away my misery - I would welcome death myself.  I do not know how long I can go on - it is just so hard.

My emotions are so strong as of late and I think they are being strengthened by my return to minor hockey.  I go to the rink to do my part to get the season started for our Association.  People see my friendly nature - they do not see my utter despair when I look to the ice and see Matthew's teammates, friends and opponents all skating and enjoying the sport Matthew so dearly loved.  I try to do the best I can for the benefit of other people's children and I hope they appreciate my efforts for they can never know how hard it is for me.

I attended a very small ceremony when we retired Matthew's jersey.  The Association wanted to do something formal and retire it in a ceremony - I just couldn't do it that way - it was too hard to do so in a crowd.  So I did it myself with rink attendants Wayne and Frank in attendance as well as an NTV cameraman who wanted the footage for the "Too Young too Die" television special about Matthew.  To be honest, I wasn't really happy that it was being filmed but I knew that to honor him and see how proud I was of Matthew, I "needed" it to be part of the special.  Matthew's jersey now hangs alone above the home bench in Twin Rinks #2 - the same rink and bench where we enjoyed many games of hockey over the last five years. Maybe I will get a picture or two of his jersey this weekend.

I do not know what the rest of my life holds for me and for Desma - I don't even know how I am going to get through this hockey season let alone the days I have left on earth.  I tell myself and am doing it for his memory, for Matt's close friends Greg, Jason and Carter who will play for our team this season and hope that I make the hockey program a little better for all those who participate. I know Matthew would want me to do this for Greg, Jason and Carter as well as for all the other players who called him friend.

Oh, what I would give to see him walk from the dressing room with his team. A handsome boy 6' tall on skates, blonde hair in his eyes and protruding from his element, his crisp white jersey fitting him perfectly and showing his manly physique and not the little boy physique of his very first season, his infectious laugh as he carries on with his teammates and what he would say to me just before he would step onto the ice with a sheepish grin and say......."Dad, can I play first line today?"

Wednesday, September 29, 2005:

I have taken a page from Desma’s book and have decided to write down some of my thoughts on this the 6^th month anniversary of Matthew’s death.  I find writing extremely painful and as such, do not do much of it.  I spend a lot of time doing the required maintenance to the website and making graphics for different projects in memory of Matthew and even scanning photos for the website, but when it comes to writing, a dark cloud of dread descends over my already overcast life.

The old adage “time waits for no man” is so true! Eventhough 6-months have passed since Matthew left me, my pain is as sharp as it was on March 28.  I have tried to put my best foot forward and occupy myself as much as I am able, my mind is muddled with the painful memories of that fateful evening. I not only see, but feel, everything that has transpired since Matthew’s passing – his would be grade 9 graduation, his 16^th birthday, his first day of grade 10, his return to hockey, and everything else that he should have had the chance to do during the last six months no matter how significant or trivial it was. I not only grieve his absence but also grieve for all of his lost opportunities and the activities he has missed.  I still visit his resting place daily and tend to it with the same vigor as an award-winning gardener – it is the closest thing I have of Matthew left.

It still feels like yesterday when I drove onto the scene and the sight of rescuers performing CPR on his lifeless body will forever be seared in my mind. Everytime I close my eyes I see the same scene over and over but yet realize that he has departed my loving embrace until I meet him again after my misery of living without him is finished.

I have tried to go on with my life – I have long since returned to work, I have worked incessantly around the house, I have tended to Desma as much as she wants me to and as of late I have returned to hockey which has also been painful. I try to put my best foot forward at the rink but if people could only see my inner emotions, they would realize how difficult this is for me.

Hockey was something I was sure I would never return to since the sport drew Matthew and myself very close.  We both loved the sport and couldn’t get enough of it.  Since Matthew’s death, I have been repeatedly approached by players, coaches, parents and volunteers hoping for my return to the sport.  Their outpouring of support and kind words touched my heart and in part helped make my decision.  The biggest thing I considered was what would Matthew want? I thought about it for a long time and knowing his love for hockey, I truly feel that he would want me to go back.

At present, I am actively involved with getting the season started but my activities are somewhat “sanitized” since these activities are things that would not have directly involved Matthew such as meetings, scheduling, allstar evaluations, etc.  I do however have trepidations about the first game I will coach knowing full well that Matthew should be on the bench in front of me providing a positive critique of my coaching skills. I just hope that Matthew will help me that day to get through another very difficult hour of my life – I have too many to mention but this one is near the top of the list with respect to my misery.

I have watched Desma struggle for 6-long-months.  Some days she manages to get through OK but there are others that just getting out of bed is extremely difficult for her.  Her maternal instinct is constantly in overdrive since her motherly love is perpetually searching for someone no longer with us.  I worry about her a lot and just hope that with time, her ability to deal with Matthew’s absence becomes more manageable for her sake as well as for my own piece of mind.  Neither of us will ever be OK, time does not heal, and absence does indeed make the heart fonder - to the point my heart is utterly broken.

Six months seems such a short time but for Desma and me it has been an eternity filled with the rigors of trying to conduct each day in the same way we did before March 28.

The past six months has brought me six months closer to seeing Matthew again!

Saturday, June 18, 2005

The following narrative represents my observations and feelings for the first four days immediately after the night of Matthew's death.  There is a lot more to be written but I find that putting these words on paper is very difficult for me since I am reliving every painful detail.  When I add to my story, I will make a statement in the Announcements section of the website.

The following is a continuation of my March 28th description of events........

ARRANGEMENTS
The very next morning (March 29th), Desma and myself had to do something that we thought we could never do – go to Carnell’s to make Matthew’s funeral arrangements. Todd O’Neill of Carnell’s was a godsend who helped us with many difficult decisions. We were also supported by my father Alf, Desma’s dad Brett and stepmom Helena, my sister Lynette and Reverend Ian March-MacCuish. We are thankful for their company to help ease our heartbreaking task. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to choose your child’s casket, flowers, and make the schedule for the funeral service? The casket we chose was adorned with hockey skates on each of the four corners. These we still keep in our memories box.

This day was probably the third worst of my life behind the night of Matt’s death and his funeral. Desma was unable to see Matthew in an open casket.  This is a nightmarish vision that she would have remembered for the rest of her life.  She wanted to remember Matthew as he was everyday - laughing, running, walking and otherwise full of life. Out of concern for Desma, the casket was only opened upon request by me.  At these times, Desma would sit outside of the receiving room.

FUNERAL HOME
We had to await Matthew’s arrival to Carnell’s for an extra day since the medical examiner and police needed to obtain the necessary evidence for their prosecution of the individual who tore Matthew from our lives. Matthew was finally ready for viewing on Wednesday, March 30. A private session was held for family only, with his casket open between 10am and 12 noon. I was allowed to go into the receiving room alone, as per my request, to spend 15 minutes by myself with Matthew. Matthew was laid out wearing his #7 Altius Predators hockey jersey, jeans and sneakers – his comfort clothes. He had a flashlight with him as well as his stuffed bear Joe-Joe, both of which were sources of comfort to him at night when he was smaller because he did not like the dark. My grief was overwhelming since I was still trying to accept the fact that Matthew was no longer amongst the living. Eventually, I allowed the rest of the family to enter where they too shared in my grief. That afternoon (2-4pm) and again that evening (7-9pm), Desma and myself met with people who came to share their sympathies. At this time, because of Desma’s presence, Matthew’s casket was closed. We estimate that there must have been in excess of 500 people who came to pay their respects during the four hours that Matthew was waking that day. We received not only friends and family, but also complete strangers who were also affected by the Matthew’s death.

Todd O’Neill suggested something that we both thought might help his friends. Todd supplied silver markers to leave messages on the deep green colored casket. In the matter of hours, Matt’s casket was almost completely covered in messages from all of his friends, family and other visitors. In hindsight, I wish I had of had the wherewithal to have taken detailed photographs so we could have read all these messages.

There were so many visitors to see Matthew on that first day that Carnell’s decided they would move Matthew upstairs to a larger room. This other larger room turned into two rooms and from the sheer number of people who visited on Thursday (March 31st) afternoon and evening, one of the local ice rinks may have been a more appropriate venue. Thursday evening saw an hour-and-a-half line-up just to get into the receiving room. The line of people stretched from Matthew’s casket, the length of the funeral home and out into the parking lot. All parking lots in the general area of the funeral home was full and Carnell personnel had to go onto Crosbie Road and try to direct traffic in and out of the several overflowing parking lots that border the road. A conservative estimate of the number of visitors to Carnell’s on March 31st was in excess of 800 people.

To say the least, we were utterly overwhelmed to see the magnitude of support, caring, compassion and love we experienced that day.

One of the hardest things I experienced during the entire time Matthew was waking, was a request from Greg Thorne, Matthew’s best friend. He came to me on that Thursday evening and asked if he could see Matthew. I was flabbergasted and did not know what to say. This young teenager was asking something of me that I was uncertain I could even do. Greg went on to explain how he did not want his last memories of Matthew to be the ones from the night of the tragedy. Seeing Matthew mortally injured lying on the ground and then watching the EMT perform CPR on Matthew all the way to the Janeway in the back of the ambulance was not how Greg wanted to remember Matthew. I said OK to Greg and told him to meet me Friday morning at 10am. About and hour later, Greg returned with about 30 of Matthew’s friends who found out that Greg will be allowed to view Matthew. All of them wanted to see Matthew as well. I guess that this was their way of dealing with the loss and something to give them closure.

At 10am Friday (April 1st), all 30 young teenagers arrived as I asked, as did about 20 more friends. These kids all bravely shuffled past Matthew’s open casket with tears flowing down their cheeks and mournful sobs emitting from some. Everyone touched Matt’s his hand or his face. It was a very hard thing to watch. This brave group of kids that kept Desma and me company the entire time Matthew was waking, were in their deepest mourning seeing Matthew and knowing it would be the last time to do so. They provided comfort and assistance to us whenever they could and I returned their kindness that morning giving hugs, talking to them and thanking them for being such wonderful friends.

Friday morning was also the last time I would ever see Matthew on this Earth again. I spent another 15-20 minutes with him alone touching his hand and face and saying my last goodbyes before the Carnell’s staff would come and seal his coffin for the very last time. This was also the last time that any of the family would see Matthew. It was very emotional to say the least. The last three times I saw Matthew was on the operating table at the Janeway, in his casket two days after the hit-and-run and finally on Friday, just before Matthew was to travel to Portugal Cove Memorial United for a celebration of his life.

Before the casket was closed, we removed Joe-Joe (Matt’s teddy bear) from the casket and gave him to Desma so we could have a remnant of his comfort with us. Just before the lid was closed for good, I flicked on his flashlight. Unless you have lost a child, you cannot comprehend the pain I experienced when I helped close the casket and seal it for his eternal rest.

FUNERAL SERVICE
Matthew’s funeral service was to start at 2pm on Friday, April 1st. The immediate family gathered at my parents’ house and awaited the arrival of Ross Squires and his limousine. Ross offered the limousine not to ride in style or for his personal gain, but to ensure that the immediate family all arrive together at the ceremony as well as depart for the cemetery in the same fashion. For his suggestion, we were thankful after seeing the utter chaos of cars, congestion and people as we neared the church. Several friends of mine on the police force acted as traffic directors and lead us to and from the church under police escort.

The scene at the church was surreal as we arrived. There were people stood in the parking lot since any free space in the church had long since been taken. More and more people were still walking to the church a full hour before the service even started. Some people walked from distances of almost a kilometre since that was the closest parking they could get. Both sides of Portugal Cove Road were lined with cars from the Portugal Cove wharf to the intersection with Anglican Cemetery Road. Every driveway and parking lot on this stretch was also filled to capacity. The church was filled to overflowing and when we entered, I noticed the players and coaches of all three hockey teams I had been involved with during the season. Matthew’s Altius Predator’s team that I coached were there dressed in their white and blue jerseys. The St. John’s Caps Midget “A” Allstar team that I assisted and managed was present in their white and red jerseys and the Midget “B” Allstar team that I helped to select for the Provincial tournament were dressed in their red and whites. All of these young men and women were obviously finding it emotionally difficult to be in attendance, as did the hundreds upon hundreds of others that were there.

The last time I walked up the aisle of the church clutching Desma, it was during our wedding. Now we were doing it to bury our son. Desma clutched Joe-Joe tightly to her chest ever since he was given to her that morning at Carnell’s.

Reverend Ian March-MacCuish came to Desma and me at 1:30pm and told us that no one else can even get into the church and that the parking lot was now full. He suggested that we start the service a half-an-hour early since he could see in us that the waiting was extremely difficult for Desma and me. We agreed and Reverend Ian conducted the celebration of Matthew’s life. It was a beautiful service and at our request, Eric Clapton’s “Tears in Heaven” was played since it had two meanings to us. Of most significance was that it was the last song Matthew learned to play on his guitar and secondly Eric Clapton wrote it as a way to deal with his grief of losing his four-year-old son to an accidental fall. I can still remember the first time I heard the song about 13 years ago and it moved me to tears – just as it done on the day of Matthew’s funeral – this time for my own grief.

After the service was completed and we arose to leave, the three hockey teams lined both sides of the walkway as a guard of honor as Matthew was carried from the church to his final resting place.

BURIAL
We arrived at the cemetery, which is only about 500m from where we live, and walked to where Matthew was to be interred. Ross Squires told us that a friend of his gave him a dove that could be released at the end of the committal ceremony if we so desired. We both agreed and Ross brought the basket containing the dove to us. When we arrived, the pallbearers had already carried Matthew to his final resting place. Each of the pallbearers wore the same tie – a blue Toronto Maple Leafs tie that was laid to rest with Matthew before the casket was covered.

The service neared completion and Reverend Ian motioned for us to release the white dove. We lifted the lid of the basket and for several seconds it just stayed where it was, and looked at us with, what we can best describe, a look of sympathy. The dove finally flew from his basket and back to his home about 15 miles distant. Everyone in the cemetery commented on this beautiful gesture and a poem (Where the White Dove Flies) that Ross gave us on behalf of the pigeon’s owner is included in the Meaningful Quotations of the website.

We had to depart the cemetery before Matthew was lowered into the ground. Our hearts have been torn beyond healing up to this point and we could not just bear anything else. We left the graveyard with our poem, Joe-Joe, some flowers but without our son.

The next two weeks were a blur of grief counselling, crying, legal discussions, meeting, doctor’s visits and sorrow. Two weeks after the funeral we were invited to attend the Leary’s Brook Junior High Memorial Service. To be continued.........