My mom was right on time to collect me. It was after my shift, doing what I loved, coaching gymnastics. The car was in the same place idling, my mom at the wheel. I opened the door to sit down and she quickly ushered me to the back seat. I can only imagine what was whirling through her mind as I think back to that moment. The words, “I have to tell you something” stings. I knew that meant terrible news. I started to well, freak out, asking what it meant, what was wrong, what was happening? The details are a bit foggy, but all I remember were the words that there had been an accident and my cousin didn’t make it. He was just 15. Christopher Harold Germaine. I knew him as a cousin, yes, however he and his brothers Matt and Peter were more like siblings (‘brousins’ I like to say).

 For a time in our lives, we lived just down the road from one another. We rode bikes, played at the park, ate lots of toast and peanut butter, had schoolyard fun. Chris and I went to school together, had the same friends and shared some amazing times together. He was an incredible athlete. He loved to ski, play football, bike. It was like he had the Midas touch, all sports turned to gold for him. Riding bikes is a favourite childhood memory. But for Chris, it was not just the regular jaunt around the hood biking, no, he was an extreme biker. My Uncle Ron (you may recognize as the author from my recent post Improbable Connections book review) built a ramp on their driveway and the boys would go up and down for hours. I remember the sound of the wheels whirling down, watching him spin in the air with a split second of silence, until he landed again only to do it all over again. He was amazing. When our family made the move to Ontario from B.C it was really hard because I lost that friend/cousin/brother (brousin) I had in class, holidays, family moments and just hanging at the park at school. Somehow our family managed to make many visits back to the west coast and still enjoy family time with them. All of these moments wonderful memories to hold. The accident took place in Alberta while they were traveling on a visit to extended family. Snow and ice were a deadly combination. From what I have been told, it was amazing there weren’t more injuries. Matt, Peter, Uncle Ron were ‘ok’ but my grandma and Aunt Sandie were badly hurt. They have scars I never will. They were there and lost a son, grandson and brother that day. I was able to attend the funeral with my mom. Our church community provided for us so we could attend. I remember trying to hide my emotions when I first saw everyone, didn’t work very well. I have to ask my parents, but I don’t recall crying a great deal as a child. From the age of 15 and on though I do recall that I became quite emotional. Let the waterworks begin. That was a brutal day. My grandma was in the hospital with broken bones and I was overwhelmed when I saw her. She looked tired, broken and yet she had a smile and likely, while awake and alert was praying for the family. I made a decision around that time if I was ever blessed with a son, I wanted to use the name Christopher. I have always loved that name, and this added special meaning. Fast forward to 1999 and our firstborn, a son, with permission from my uncle, was given the name Christopher. To my Aunt Sandie, Uncle Ron, Matt and Peter, I often think of you and will continue to pray. I am grateful for you and you are dearly loved. Matt and Peter, you too were amazing athletes and now you have your own families and careers. You are both amazing sons, brothers, cousins, fathers and husbands. Chris will always be your brother and you will always be my ‘brousins’.