I originally began this piece by calling it “About the Author”. But I am not the author, I didn’t write this story. I am merely a character in a series of events that lead me to becoming a Vilomah. What is Vilomah? Read on and learn.

By now, most everyone reading this knows that my son, Jacob, died on November 11, 2021. He died before either of his parents and most of his aunts and uncles. In fact, he was only predeased by his Uncle Gordie over 35 years ago, and his Uncle Al a few years ago. Three of his four grandparents have passed. He still has ten aunts and uncles of whom many have spouses.

In our family, on my side, we have also lost two nieces. Three of us in my family of ten, nine surviving, have each lost a child. That’s 1/3. That is unacceptabe. Still with us are 17 of his cousins, not to mention his expanded families of step relatives from both his dad and from me. And his cousins children, and their children.

In this drug toxicity crisis, we are Vilomah. A Sanskrit word, meaning “against the natural order”, is the only word I can find to describe a parent who has lost a child. This is not natural. This is life altering. Nothing makes sense or feels secure anymore. Loss has become tangible. Grief is in every fibre of being. It is hard to feel or experience explicit joy.

One day I will write about me, and my story, but for now I am compelled to tell this story, the story of Jacob.