The Taxi Driver

On February 8th, 1992, we welcomed our first baby, Laura into the world after a very long and difficult birth requiring the use of forceps and the vacuum extractor. I was overjoyed to get home after a tiring week in hospital and looked forward to us getting into a routine. That first night home I checked on Laura and discovered that she had died in her sleep without any warning. In an out-of-body experience, I looked down at myself screaming. Shock, disbelief, and grief bombarded me. Was it SIDS? Had I done something to cause her death while I was pregnant or since we got home?

People asked why we didn’t sue but we didn’t want to go through such an ordeal having to relive it all and it wouldn’t bring her back. We had an investigation done by the College of Surgeons and Physicians but the doctor was never held accountable. When we got the autopsy report the cause of death stated that it was a brain haemorrhage.

I was on maternity leave with no baby to love. Instead, it was a time of overwhelming emptiness and sadness as I grieved for the baby girl I would never know.

That spring, I went to visit my sister-in-law in Montreal to get a change of scenery. On my return trip to Ottawa, I arrived at the bus station late. Rushing to the gate, I got on with only minutes to spare. When the bus started crossing Jacques Cartier Bridge, I panicked. This wasn’t the way to Ottawa. Was he taking a route I wasn’t familiar with? As we continued along the Trans Canada, I realized I was on the way to Quebec City. I told the bus driver I was on the wrong bus and he let me off in St. Bruno. I phoned my parents who were living in Mont St. Hilaire at the time but they were both working and couldn’t come to pick me up.

I finally ended up getting a taxi. The driver was a jovial old French fellow who was very friendly and full of joie de vivre. We quickly got beyond the usual pleasantries about weather and I revealed how I had just lost a baby in February. He told me that long ago his five-year-old daughter had died, and how he still missed her fifty years later. He was so compassionate, and I could tell he knew exactly what I was going through. He dropped me off in Longueil to take the Metro back to the bus station. I never learned his name and never saw him again. I remember the feeling of connection we had and how kind he was. He reassured me that I would get through the loss and survive.

We have since had two healthy sons and both births went well without requiring medical intervention. I feel fortunate as I have met other bereaved parents who were unable to have another child after their loss. Even though I’m not a religious person, I’m convinced the taxi driver was one of those angels who come in human form to give us comfort when we need it. His kindness touched me and I still remember it 32 years later.