Thank you.
On May 29, 2014, I gave birth to my first child, my daughter Hazel Rose. She was born healthy, happy and perfect in every way. We had three incredible months with her in our arms, and they were the happiest three months of our lives. There was no sign, no warning and no thoughts of her leaving us so abruptly as she did, but on August 31 she fell asleep and never woke up again.
That day will remain forever etched in my mind. Thinking about it makes my head start spinning and my stomach feel nauseated even four years later. What we went through that day and in the coming weeks and months, no person should ever have to go through. It's something that is impossible to imagine unless you have also lost a child.
We had to answer questions that hadn't even entered our minds, and we didn't know if we were making the right decisions. Would she be buried or cremated? What did we want her to wear? Where would she stay—in a cemetery or at home with us?
Then we had to plan a funeral. My husband Gareth and I created a slide show of our most treasured pictures ever. We had to choose a venue and food and hot beverages to serve, and we had to prepare speeches that would somehow convey to others how much we loved and missed our baby girl. I could barely brush my hair, much less be present in front of 100 of our closet friends and family members, but I had no choice, and even though Hazel's heart had stopped beating, mine continued to whether I wanted it to or not.
Somehow the world kept going on all around me, but I remained in a fog of heartache and grief. I didn't want to think of anything beyond memories of holding my gorgeous daughter. Early on, I began seeing a grief counsellor through the Alberta Health Services. I needed an outlet and someone who could help me make sense of the new emotions I was carrying. I had no idea that grief could bring on such an onslaught of scary feelings.
I didn't recognize the person that I had become, but I also couldn't remember the person I used to be. Gone was the outgoing, happy, talkative and confident woman that I once was. I was afraid to be in public. I was filled with intense social anxiety, and I was afraid of seeing reminders of what and who I had lost, but the reminders were everywhere: pregnant women, happy families and babbling babies. There were land mines at every turn.
There were so many things that I didn't want to think about during those early days after tragedy struck: money, work, exercise, cooking and eating, to name just a few. Going back to work was the last thing I wanted to think about, yet it became a topic of conversation much more often than I liked.
For those around me who simply didn't understand, they wrongly assumed that going to work would be a good distraction for me. My profession is teaching students with special needs. I don't have an office where I can close the door and cry when I need to; rather, I am surrounded by dozens of people all day long, and I need to make important decisions regarding the needs of the students I support and the assistants I supervise. A distraction was the last thing I wanted.
I felt so isolated, so alone in my grief, that I needed to understand it and work through it to feel human again and to find hope. I personally do not believe that there is enough understanding about grief, especially child loss, and rarely do people know how to support grieving parents. Often things are said or done with good intentions but have terrible results, often causing more harm than good. To be back at a workplace within weeks or even months after child loss means being faced with questions about your family from those who do not know you are grieving; listening to others talk about their families and children; and, being given platitudes on how to get through it. For me, it simply wasn't a safe place to be.
My husband and I researched online what we were meant to do in regard to my EI, my work and our financial situation, as no one at the funeral home or the hospital told us or even knew what we were supposed to do. In our research, we came across a benefit through EI for the parents of murdered or kidnapped children, which I know has recently been changed to parents of young victims of crime. I read that over and over and kept looking for something for parents who have lost children in other ways as well, but I couldn't find anything. I was in disbelief and assumed that the government thought that if a child was kidnapped or murdered, it was perhaps a worse result than a child dying from an illness or from undetermined reasons, and that somehow those parents deserved support but we did not. Unfortunately, it's the same result: a parent will grieve that child until his or her dying day, no matter what caused that child's death.
Just days after that, I found out that I had to go into Service Canada to cancel my EI benefits and ask about my options. I was told that there was a good chance I would qualify for sickness benefits. I was a bit confused, as I knew that was different from the support given to parents whose children had been murdered, but sickness benefits didn't sound right either, as I wasn't sick and I wasn't injured. I was broken and grieving, and I didn't seem to fit into any box offered.
However, I did feel a sense of relief that I would qualify for the benefit, even knowing that 15 weeks would not be long enough. I now know that I only qualified for the sickness benefit because I hadn't needed to access it during my pregnancy with Hazel. In the end, I did not go through EI but was instead put on short-term disability leave through my work and then eventually long-term leave. I ended up being off work for exactly two years. I'm grateful that as a teacher I had access to these benefits and was not forced to go back to work when I was not physically or mentally able to be there.
Within weeks of Hazel's dying, I received a notification in the mail from Service Canada that I had been given extra money through the child tax benefit and I owed it back to the government in a timely fashion. It was approximately $550. I had no idea that I had been overpaid and would have to return such a large sum of money.
There was no option given for paying online, and I even called to see if this could be a possibility, as I had been avoiding being out in public at all costs. Everywhere I went there were triggers, and I wasn't emotionally ready to make idle chit-chat or safely be behind the wheel of a car. Unfortunately, the only option I was given was to go to the bank in person. I dreaded it, as I had been there just weeks before setting up an RESP for Hazel. It was within walking distance from my house, so I forced myself to go as I didn't have much choice.
The teller recognized me immediately and asked where my beautiful baby was. I stared in silence and somehow got it out that she had passed away. The teller frowned and responded by telling me that her niece had had a recent miscarriage and that she understood what I was going through. I stood there in disbelief, then walked out of the bank as fast as I could and became physically ill while customers moved around me. Needless to say, I haven't been back to that bank since. I hope, in the four years since losing Hazel, that parents are now able to pay back this amount online, or better yet, not at all.
Two years into my grief I started a foundation in honour of Hazel called Hazel's Heroes. We provide healing retreats to mothers who have lost a child under the age of 12, at no cost to the family. Through Hazel's Heroes and the various support groups I am part of, I have met dozens, if not hundreds, of bereaved parents. Many of them have shared their anxieties around returning to work and struggling to make enough money with no pay cheque or benefits. It's simply heartbreaking. Grief doesn't just affect you emotionally; it affects every ounce of your being. What helped me the most in my grief was not returning to work and being distracted, but rather putting time into grief work such as counselling, support groups, journaling and being close with others who understood what I was going through.
It's so important that as a society we recognize the need to give bereaved parents the opportunity to sit with our grief, find new ways to parent the child no longer in their arms and find their new normal. The government can help make this happen, and I hope this committee is able to find a solution to better supporting parents after the tragic loss of a child.
Thank you.