Robert J. Wiersema is a bookseller and reviewer, who contributes regularly to the Vancouver Sun, the Globe and Mail, the Ottawa Citizen and numerous other newspapers. Wiersema is also the event coordinator for Bolen Books. He lives in Victoria, B.C., with his wife, Cori Dusmann, and their son, Xander. Before I Wake is his first novel.
I only looked away for a moment.
That one phrase haunts a parent when something tragic happens to their child. It echoes in the mind like an accusation. Or a curse.
"I only turned my back for a second, but somehow he managed to reach the handle of the frying pan . . ."
"I just went inside to answer the phone. I thought the gate to the pool was locked . . ."
It's a cry for understanding, a challenge to the universe. I hear the guilt, the recrimination, and I understand: If only I had been paying attention . . .
He wouldn't be burned.
She wouldn't have drowned.
I didn't look away.
We believe that vigilance can prevent tragedy, that if we pay attention, we will be strong enough, wise enough, fortunate enough to counter fate.
"If I had been watching . . ."
It's a lie.
It's a trick that the universe plays, a way of increasing the guilt and despair while seeming to explain it away.
I didn't look away. I wish I had.
Sometimes we can only watch, mute witnesses as our lives change in a moment, in a heartbeat, in the time it takes a three-year-old girl to take a single step from our side.
I let go of her hand.
I didn't look away.
And my baby is gone.
April 1996
"Jubilee, this is A32. We have two, repeat two, en route. Hit and run. ETA four minutes. Clear."
"Copy, A32. Please advise condition. Clear."
"Copy, Jubilee. Advise one adult female. Some bleeding. Shock. Holding stable. Clear."
"Copy, A32. Advise."
"Copy, Jubilee. Advise one female child, three years. Severe head trauma with decreased level of consciousness and spontaneous respirations. Severe bleeding from cranium. Clear."
"Copy, A32. Trauma One will meet you at the gate. Clear."
KAREN BARRETT
Sherry and I were walking to the mall, holding hands.
Hillside Shopping Centre is only a few blocks from the house, and every Wednesday morning in the food court clowns and jugglers and musicians perform for the kids. I had dressed Sherry in her little blue dress, the one with Winnie the Pooh on the front. She had chosen it herself: "my sky-blue dress, because it matches the sky." I zipped up the back carefully, so as not to catch any of her wispy hair between the metal teeth. I tickled her gently under the arms as I finished.
Was that the last time I heard her laugh?
Sherry loved the clowns, and the noise of all the other children packed into the food court was like a wall of pure joy. We usually had a snack, a muffin or some french fries, before we walked home, and by the time we got back it would be nap time for both of us.
It was a beautiful spring day. The sky was a clear, cold blue, but there was no chill to the air. In fact, the air was heavy with warmth and growth and green and flowers as we walked through our neighborhood. We stopped to pet familiar cats, to smell the lilacs just in flower, to pick up stones that weighed down my pockets.
