Unknown brothers

Pat Fule

Fule for Thought

 

My parents, like countless others, experienced the loss of a child. In their case, they had to deal with two baby deaths, before my brother and I came along. They were new to Canada, and had difficulties with the English language. I was always told about each, and the circumstances of their deaths, until they became a natural part of some of our conversations.  

Joe Jr. born first in October of 1955, died during a difficult delivery. I was told the doctor who was summoned, had come from a party. It was a difficult forceps delivery, and my brother died. Some of the nurses consoled my parents and said they could pursue legal action, but that it would be difficult to get all of the staff to speak out. There was much fear, and with my parents’ poor English, nothing was done. They were left to their grief, the same way as many new parents.  

This was in 1955, and our town was little, with a small hospital. There were no funeral homes, and it was stormy and cold that day. This next part is difficult to describe for me, as I saw the hurt on my dad’s face when he retold it to me 40 years after the event. My dad had to drive to Banff with his dead baby son in a wooden box, in the back seat!  When I asked how he could do that, how could he have handled that, he just said, “it had to be done … there were no special cars or staff to do this.”  

I can only imagine the pain of that, and also for my mother, knowing how badly her new family had been damaged by this. To think that your new son has died, and that your husband is driving him away for funeral arrangements, must have been horrendous for a young mother. I’m sure there are many older families that have similar stories of how devastating a loss of a baby or child can be.

I can’t imagine losing one child, but to have a second baby die AFTER the first, must be absolutely horrible. Many families have these tragedies, and sadly, they become part of the families’ histories and stories. My parents’ second son to die, lost his life after two days of battling to live. John was born with a defective heart, but not enough could be done in 1957 to save him, either. There were no surgeons in our town, no STARS helicopter to airlift him to Calgary. They tried to stabilize him, but it wasn’t to be, and he died. The two losses for my parents were horribly sad, and they were also so different. One boy died quickly in birth, one arrived safely, with I’m sure a great feeling of relief, only to have that relief turned to fear, and then sadness.

I’m not sure how a couple recovers from these losses. I’m not sure how a couple itself, could not be destroyed by these deaths. Yet, my parents tried a third and fourth time, and my brother Gary and I were born, two years apart. My parents always spoke of Joe Jr. and John. They became the older brothers my mom said would have stuck up for me, protect me, and babysit me. I would try to imagining how cool it would be to have three big brothers! At least a couple of times each month, our family would visit their graves.  It became a family ritual and a way (I’m sure) for my parents to have some kind of tie to them. My dad even had lilacs planted there for them. The lilacs still keep growing and blooming, even though it’s more than 50 years since my brothers died. I used to wonder at the tiny size of their graves with the elaborate cement slab stating their birth and death dates.

Nowadays, we don’t often visit their graves, and my brother has long since moved to Vancouver. I even have trouble going to my parents’ graves. However, when my family does visit, I, as a father, am hit with the enormity of my parents losing two babies. To have held them and lost them must have been so painful. I never knew these babies, so it’s difficult to feel the loss and mourn them. Yet Joe Jr. and John, my unknown brothers, deserve to have someone remember them, to miss them as babies who once lived, but could not, for very long. Someone should mourn them, someone should think of, and pray for them. I think it’s time we visited their little graves again, and re-introduce my kids to their lost uncles … if only they COULD have been.

 

(“Fule for Thought” is a slice of life humourous column that will appear in the Strathmore Times, written by long-time resident, town councillor, high school teacher, coach, husband and father of two – Pat Fule. If you would like to get in touch with Pat, you can send him an e-mail at Pat.fule@shaw.ca)