Fortin had insisted on riding in the ambulance with her. He’d watched them check her signs, ask about medications, attach an IV line to her arm, and tend to her; then they’d allowed him to hold her hand as the siren wailed underscoring their alarm.

At the hospital, medical staff rushed Cathy into an emergency operating room and had ordered Fortin to the waiting room. He sat in a worn, cushioned chair, stared at reruns of Seinfeld playing on the suspended TV while his mind raced with a million fears.

Cathy had looked terrified.

Fortin didn’t know how much time had passed before a nurse found him and had escorted him to a small, empty office, where he waited again.

After several long moments, a doctor with white hair appeared, sat with Fortin, removed his glasses, and gave him a compassionate summary, explaining something about uterine anomalies and a weakened cervix, “that resulted in your wife’s miscarriage. I’m so sorry, Mr. Fortin.”

Fortin felt the earth shift under him as he struggled to understand what he’d just been told.

In a moment of clarity, he’d heard the doctor say that he could see Cathy shortly, that she was sedated but awake.

“Doctor, I have to know. Was it a boy or a girl?”

“Both. They were twins.”

The light in Cathy’s hospital room had been dimmed, offering an air of calm and quiet. She was on her side with her back to the door. He went around the bed, took her hand, and she’d pulled him to her and released great gasping sobs.

“I’m so sorry, Will, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, it’s not your fault, no.”

They held each other for as long as they’d let Fortin stay in her room with her.

A few days later they’d held a small, private memorial service at their church. Later, Cathy took a sedative, got into bed, and hugged a stuffed polar bear that he’d bought to celebrate her pregnancy. While she slept, Fortin sat up alone, drinking and searching the night for answers.

-Chapter 19-

Southern Alberta

Fortin’s search for meaning was futile in the aftermath of those raw, aching days.

He and Cathy were separated by darkness, each grieving in their own way. The school district had provided a therapist for Cathy, advising her to stay home and take as much time as she needed. She’d found that talking to the therapist about her loss had helped. So did her meetings with her priest.

Fortin had isolated himself.

He took a few days off then went back to work. He’d kept busy but had withdrawn from the people around him. After each shift, he’d say little to Cathy over dinner.