Day 1

It's actually not Day 1. It's been nearly a month already since Bryn's accident. Today is my first day back at work and I feel like it's a sign of life trying to return to 'normal'. I'm feeling angry right now at the thought of life returning to normal. People around me are getting on with their work and their lives as if nothing has happened and my blood is boiling. Life can never return to normal for us.

Five years ago my mother passed away suddenly from an aortic aneurysm. I had spoken to her the day before and everything was fine. Everything was normal. I live in Canada and she lived in the UK. I got the call first thing in the morning, as I was getting ready to go to work. I couldn't get to the UK fast enough. She was already gone. No time to say goodbye. No time to tell her one more time that I loved her. No more time. I think it was the suddenness of her death and the distance that I struggled with the most. There was no warning and it was too soon. Selfishly, I wasn't ready. I was aware of other people who had gone through bereavements and felt at the time I was doing it all wrong. It was taking way too long for me to be okay again. I did counselling, but at the time the thing I found most helpful was stumbling upon a blog called One Day At A Time, by Emily Garvin. It was her accounts of her journey after the sudden death of her husband. Even though I hadn't lost my spouse, I could relate easily to the feelings she was describing. She put into words what I was feeling and for some strange reason, it helped me. A lot. Here was someone who understood at the rawest level way more than any counselor could, and she put it into words perfectly. I found myself reading her blog and saying, "Yes, exactly", and it just made it easier to make it through the day. 

So I figured I might do the same this time around. Perhaps putting my feelings into words might help me get through this, or might help others at some point. I'm not sure I will do it as well as Emily did, but it's worth a go. 

What do I mean 'this time around'? Okay, let's step back a month to set the scene, and we'll take it from there and just see where it goes ....

My name is Ed and I am, or was, Bryn's father. Bryn was seventeen years old and had a fatal car accident on July 18th. I'm not exactly sure of the details as we're still waiting on the Police Report. As I understand it he was less than five minutes away from home, heading into town, apparently to meet someone about buying a used paint sprayer to spray his car. Neither his mum nor I were aware he was doing this. Bryn would often do things without telling us, especially if he knew we would object. He wasn't 'bad', he just liked his independence. You might say he was a stubborn teenager who was keen to be an adult. When we went to bed he was still working on his car in the garage. Nothing unusual, just a normal every-day day. 

We got the knock on the door from the Police that every parent dreads. It was just after midnight I think. We both knew when we opened the door what was coming. It was just like a movie, and we were playing the lead roles. 

"Are you the parents..."

An accident in his car, they said. Flown to hospital. 

I can't recall the exact discussion, but I heard the keywords. Accident. Hospital. Flown. It was clearly serious. They don't take people to hospital by helicopter for a broken leg. I recall my wife asking if Bryn was still alive, and the young Police officer replying he didn't know. Did he really just say he didn't know? 

Initially we were sent to the wrong hospital. Apparently the helicopter redirected en-route and I can only assume now this was due to the extent of his injuries. When we got to the correct hospital we were ushered into a private room, again, just like a movie. An emergency room doctor broke the initial news to us that Bryn had suffered head injuries that had damaged his brain and, '...he is unlikely to recover from these injuries... he is going to die'. 

There it was, what my wife and I somehow already knew and feared. Our youngest son was going to die.