Catherine Gourdier - Breathe Cry Breathe: From Sorrow to Strength in the Aftermath of Sudden, Tragic Loss

W ith a dead body and a severed head in the trunk of my husband Dons grey sedan, we drove from Toronto to Kingston to attend my youngest sister Julies surprise birthday party. Julie loved scary movies, so wed decided to throw a horror-themed costume party at my brother Daves house, a mere ten-minute drive from my parents. Don is a film producer and was in the midst of shooting a Resident Evil sequel, so wed packed some movie props to use as decor for the party.

It was an unusually summer-like day for November, so I wasnt surprised when we pulled into the driveway and found my sister-in-law Barb on her knees in the front yard, tending to the golden mums. The slanting sun highlighted the red in her short auburn hair. She smiled and waved a dirty-gloved hand at me. My husky, almost-six-foot-tall, fifty-year-old brother, DaveMoose to his friendsstrolled toward us. His hands were like baseball mitts toughened by thirty years of installing hardwood floors and carpets. Don held out his smooth executive palm and gave Daves a shake. Perched on tiptoes, I put my arms around Daves neck and nuzzled my cheek into his beard. His bear hug almost lifted me off the ground.

After our greeting, Dave lugged the dead body downstairs and dumped it on the floor of the family room. Don carried in crows and a bloodied head and plunked them in front of the fireplace. My decorating maven sister Teresa, whom we call Treas, had erected a cemetery of grey plastic tombstones, stretching cotton cobwebs across the top of them, as well as around picture frames hung around the room.

Treass eleven-year-old daughter, Abbey, grabbed the black crows and shrieked as she arranged them, positioning them as if they were pecking at the wide-open eyes of the realistic-looking severed head.

Next, Don and I drove around the corner to my brother Mikes house. Nobody (but me) called him Mike, not even his wife, Sharon. His nickname is Cork. He has a stouter build than Dave, and the cutest, dimpled grin Ive ever seen. We were starving, so we dumped our bags downstairs and scooped up his daughtersmy teenaged niecesand headed to the Loyal Oarsman pub to grab something to eat. Haley is the quiet one with long, pale blond hair. Samantha, who prefers to be called Sam or Sammy, is the spunky one. I have fun annoying her, so I call her Samantha.

The pub on Bath Road, two blocks around the corner from my childhood home in Kingston, Ontario, had quickly become my familys favourite hangout after it opened in 1999, which happened to be the year Don and I married. Don took the girls inside to get a table, while I lingered in the parking lot to call my mother.

Julie answered on the first ring. Well, hi, Cath was followed by her signature giggle.

Whatcha doin, Jule?

She told me shed just taken a hot, steamy bath.

Then she said what she said every week. When ya comin down, Cath? which tugged at my heart, making me wish I lived closer.

Ill be home for Christmas, I fibbed, so pretty soon. Ill bring your birthday present and your Christmas presents.

Julie squealed, Mimosas!

Even my father, a beer or rye drinker, drank mimosas on Christmas morning while we sat around the tree opening gifts and eating Moms banana bread.

Bring your new baby!

My baby was a kitten Id adopted that week. You can help me name him. Can I speak to Mom, Jule pie?

I knew it was you, said Mom a moment later. Her eyes always light up when its you.

That comment would warm my heart forever.

Were at the Oarsman. I wanted you to know so you dont come over with Julie.

Okay, dear. Ive ordered ten pizzas to be delivered at about seven thirty. Do you think thatll be enough? With the surprise party only a few hours away, I heard the excitement that animated my mothers voice.

Should beif we need more, well order more. I wish Julie was getting dressed up too.