Bright spots break gloom of family’s grief-filled days

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This article was published 24/02/2015 (3907 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

For me, it’s always the best part of the Academy Awards telecast.

The photo tribute to those in the Hollywood family who passed away over the last year; all those famous faces of people we didn’t know personally, yet felt a warmth toward.

Amy Gilbert wasn’t a movie star, although she had that look.

And I didn’t know her either.

But when the charismatic young University of Winnipeg student died last year, for some reason I felt a warmth toward her, too.

And a deep sadness she was gone so soon and so tragically.

A warmth and sadness I shared with 600 others who packed the seventh-floor Fort Garry Hotel ballroom at her memorial service, and a warmth and sadness that only deepened when I got to know about her through her friends and family.

You might remember reading about how she died.

The 23-year-old was struck by a car as she crossed Broadway at Donald Street on a late Saturday afternoon in early April. Later, I would write about the young woman who worked three jobs, trekked around the world, dreamed of being a naturopath, and knew exactly what her wedding would be like.

Then, in the months that followed, like so many others — particularly her mother, Alison — I waited for the city police service’s traffic division to complete its investigation.

Last month, more than nine months after Amy’s death, the Winnipeg Police Service issued a news release. They had arrested a 25-year-old man from Steinbach who was released on a promise to appear in court to face two charges for his alleged involvement: impaired driving causing death and dangerous driving causing death.

Alison and her husband, Brian Wall, were just about to fly back home from their vacation home in Nicaragua when they got that news.

“That was probably the darkest day since it happened,” Alison told me over the phone Sunday night.

She didn’t have to explain why.

Any mother or father who has lost a child, and struggled to cope emotionally, can appreciate how that kind of jolting news could reboot the grieving process.

What makes it even more heartbreaking is Amy was Alison’s only child. But, gratefully, there have been bursts of sun through Alison’s dark days.

One was a photo sent by her brother, Keith Gilbert, who on Amy’s recommendation had booked a flight to Guatemala three weeks before his niece died. Keith and his 14-year-old daughter, Maria, took a photograph of Amy with them, and it’s that smiling portrait they placed in front of the majestic Mayan ruins in Tikal National Park.

Later Keith would describe the moment this way

“We hiked to Temple IV — the highest temple in Tikal — climbed to the top right at sunset, and had a special moment with our beloved Amy. It was an emotional but surreal experience. I was disappointed because the sun was behind clouds which were near the horizon, but I think Amy must have heard me complaining because just minutes before it would have dipped below the horizon, the sun peered out from behind the low cloud layer, and the jungle and temples and pyramids lit up. It was absolutely spectacular.”

On Friday, Alison saw a sunburst of her own.

Amy’s friends and family gathered at the Boston Pizza in Cityplace for a fundraising social where they celebrated Amy’s spirit and raised nearly $13,000 toward setting up a memorial in her name at the University of Winnipeg.

There has been one other memorable moment for Alison since Amy died and her daughter’s organs were donated.

A woman who received one of Amy’s kidneys wrote a thank-you note to Alison.

“She said how sorry she was for our loss,” Alison recalled. “And how grateful she is because she will have a chance to watch her grandchildren grow.”

Alison paused.

“That meant so much to me,” she continued. “But just for this split second… It was a very difficult letter to read. More sweet than bitter. Bittersweet.”

The people who received Amy’s organs have another chance at life, is what Alison was thinking in that split second.

“But my child doesn’t have any.”

And her mother’s grieving now faces the prospect of months, or even years of reliving the day she died.

That’s what we call the justice system.

gordon.sinclair@freepress.mb.ca