It took awhile before Terry could say anything. Eventually Lilian gave up and just laid against him, tears dripping from her stained face while a constant moan came from deep inside her chest.

"She was shot. There was a drive by and she was killed," he said in a strange, calm voice. "She's dead, someone killed my child and now she isn't coming home anymore."

Lilian's moans became louder until they drowned out his words and she started screaming. The officer on the phone had contacted the local police and they sent a car over to talk to the family. When the doorbell rang, Alex calmly walked over and opened the door. Without even looking at who was there, he walked back to his parents and sat down on the floor across from them. His mother's screaming had calmed again and she had reverted to the low moans from before. Terry just sat against the wall, his face wet, his eyes staring blankly ahead, his legs sprawled out in front of him.

No one paid any attention to the officer's words. The three just sat on the floor, Terry filled with guilt, Lilian with pain, and Alex with a deafening emptiness that was disturbingly comfortable.

The next hours were a blur. The officer took them into the police station to discuss what had happened and what the next steps would be. Jen had been on a date with a man she had met the night before at a pub. They were eating in a small Vietnamese restaurant when a car drove past and sprayed the restaurant with bullets. Jen was hit in the chest and head with two 9mm rounds of ammunition; she died instantly.

Terry, Lilian, and Alex left the station at 8:43am that morning. They drove along sixth avenue, past the familiar used bookstore that was so often the destination of Sunday afternoon strolls, up past the immaculately kept lawns of City Hall, and onto Queens avenue where rows of old Victorian style homes lined either side of the homely street. No one looked at the beautiful park that passed by, the dew covered leaves catching glints of morning sun. They didn't notice the girl out walking her dog, or the crows watching ominously from the power lines above. They just coasted slowly along the streets in silence, empty of any visible life.

When the engine was turned off, they mechanically pulled handles and opened car doors, walked up wet steps to the porch, stepped through the open door and into the house. Terry then, as if meticulously planned, closed the door, locked it, and walked down the empty hallway to his office. Lilian collapsed into a chair in the kitchen, and Alex walked the lonely steps into the basement to sit down on the floor against the base of his bed.

No one moved for quite some time. Occasionally a cry would break the silence, but then it would quiet and once again everyone would be left to drown in their own thoughts.

When a text message chimed from Jayna, Alex calmly picked up his phone, slipped off the back, and took out the battery. He then placed the three pieces in a neat pile beside him and continued staring at the mirror sitting on the ground before him.

He looked at his curly brown hair, rolling down across his forehead, at his hazel eyes, completely dry and void of emotion, at his motionless lips. He followed the line of his chin down to his broad shoulders and slim chest, down further to his bent knees and hair covered calves, until finally coming back up slowly to stare into his own emptiness.

The facts of the evening played over and over in his mind but he couldn't manage to find a way to connect them. Yes, Jen was dead. No, she wouldn't be catching a flight home. No, he wouldn't be seeing her again. It didn't matter how many times he said these phrases to himself, they had no meaning. He couldn't grasp the idea of never seeing her again.

As just a sequence of words, it was fine, but as an actual concept it meant absolutely nothing to him, so he just continued to let them flow over and over in his mind. Yes, Jen is dead. No, she won't be catching a flight home. No, I won't see her again.

And so it went for all of the family. Each one had the same thoughts rolling through their minds, and the next days passed mechanically. Phone calls were answered, plans were made, funeral arrangements were taken care of. Neat packages of food, wrapped in white plastic bags were placed at the back door, and lovely bouquets of red and pink and orange and yellow at the front. Crisp, white envelopes fell softly to the floor by the mail slot, and emails filled inboxes with prayers of hope and love and encouragement.

There is an unspoken system to death. It is never mentioned in conversation, or decided upon; it just is. An etiquette was fashioned one day from a place of pain and grew into an organized set of rules for how we act around those who have gazed deeply into the face of loss and come back with that familiar emptiness. We tell ourselves that we don't know what to say or how to act, and that is just another step in the process. Soon whispered conversations amongst friends begin, which quickly turn into gossiping circles of speculation and rumour that fight to voice themselves to the family in question. Awkward moments and smiles that twist from a place of sadness and pity fill the family's days, when what they really need is to just face someone in a place of truth, but honesty has no place in this system, not yet, not for a long time.

It is strange how tragedy can affect individuals so differently. It took a full day before any of the three emerged from their hiding. Terry, tall and strong, seemed to have shrunk a few inches when he emerged slowly from his office. His dark brown hair, just starting to show signs of greying, was a disheveled mess. A thin layer of bristly hairs, like used sandpaper, had begun to attack his normally clean face. His eyes seemed black and sunken into his skull, rimmed with a soft purple spattering where tiny capillaries had burst from strain. His skin was pale and lifeless, and his steps hardly made a sound against the cool, hardwood floors.

He laid down on the couch beside Lilian where she had eventually ended up and cradled her sad face against his chest. Lonely tears once again broke their faces and they held each other in silence, the simplicity of words seemingly too pointless, and yet too complex at the same time. She hugged herself tightly as Terry's arms encircled her tiny frame. His tears rolled effortlessly off his face and into the thick clump of her hair that had at one point been pulled into a tight ponytail but now just flowed freely from her scalp in every direction.

Alex eventually mustered the strength to come join his parents and once again they all remained silent, but together, somehow sharing comfort in each other's pain.

It was Alex who eventually broke the silence, "I want to see her," he swallowed painfully, "I need to see her one last time."

Terry closed his eyes sadly and nodded, and Lilian buried her face deeper into his blue sweater as if somehow hoping to escape the reality that her daughter was dead.

By now Jayna had heard the news and was desperately trying to reach Alex, but he wouldn't take her calls. Terry had to sit sadly at the phone, unable to comfort her and unable to offer her what she wanted. He wasn't sure why Alex wouldn't talk to her, but it was not his place to judge his son or to tell him how to deal with the loss of his sister.

The night before the funeral, Alex finally sent Jayna a message, "Sorry, not sure how to cope right now. Funeral is tomorrow at 11am, we can talk after. Love you."

Sarah, Terry's sister, had taken care of most of the arrangements for the funeral, a few phone calls were exchanged to discuss general details, but she knew Jen quite well and created a beautiful celebration for her.

The family was not religious and so Sarah had arranged to have it at a local botanical garden. When they arrived that morning, they were blown away by the display that she had orchestrated in those few short days. Tables, flowing with white cloth, looked out the grand windows onto the beautiful grounds. The tabletops had been sprinkled with fresh pink flower petals, and in the middle of each table was a different 8 by 10 photo of Jen. The largest table sat at the head of the room and held a progression of photos: a delicate little baby, cradled in her mother's arms; a daring 5 year old in yellow rubber boots, walking precariously up a teeter-totter; a concentrated musician learning to play the piano; a studious teenager, preparing for final exams; and finally, a picture of the family on Jen's most recent visit, her face brimming with joy, one arm around Alex's shoulder and the other raised triumphantly in the air at the top of Cypress Mountain.

They fought back tears as the looked at the snapshots of a life once so vibrant, and now gone. Alex stared at her smiling face and wondered how he would ever again live a day of his life without the heart-wrenching pain he now felt in his chest. The pain and anger welled up inside of him like a cancer, spreading from deep in his abdomen, pressing against his organs, urging him to scream and shout and tear down the walls around him... but he didn't. He sat quietly beside Terry and Lilian and let the feelings crush him and flow through him, but never out. He would never let these out; he would be strong.

It came time for the family to speak on behalf of their daughter to the fifty-two guests who had been invited to the ceremony. Lilian had planned to say something but the pain of the day overwhelmed her and Terry spoke for them both.

His hand shook as he stood up in front of the crowd, the printed words on the pages in front of him difficult to read, "No parent can ever fully understand what it's like to outlive their child until they have stood where I am today. The grief and mourning that we have been through over the past few days has been overwhelming, but the kind words you have shared with us have made it more bearable.

"Jen was so strong. When she would set her mind to something, there wasn't anyone or anything that could stop her. She had a kindness in her heart that, coupled with her determination, would have lead her to accomplish great things in her life. As a student of International Law and Human Rights, her path was set make a difference in the lives of many.

ÒAs I am writing this, I can't help but think of all the things that I won't be able to do with her. That I will never again see her walking up the front steps of our home, I won't get to congratulate her on finishing university, I won't be able to visit her first home. That I won't one day walk with her, hand in hand down the aisle as I give her away to her future husband, that I won't get to hold her first child in my arms...

"It is so easy to focus on all of the wont's, but that isn't what Jen would have wanted for any of us. Jen would have asked us to love her, and to continue loving her, and to continue feeling the love that she has for us. She would have asked us not to take our own lives for granted because she certainly never did. And right now, she would whisper softly in our ears, 'I'll always be here with you, just trust in me and know that the bonds we share are so much greater than the restrictions of this world,' and we'll listen, and we'll open our hearts to her with love, and know that she's okay. Jen, we love you so very much."

By the time he had finished, tears were streaming freely down his cheeks but he hadn't faltered a single word, because these words were true from his heart.

Alex stood up next, he hadn't prepared anything because he wanted what he said to just flow from him in the moment. After clearing his throat with a sip of water, he began, "The words to properly describe my sister have not been created yet. Loving, kind, strong, generous, genuine, joyfulÉ they all fall short of encompassing the person that Jen had become. It's strange how in a split second the world can be turned upside down and inside out and we are given no say as to why. Maybe it just isn't for us to know. Maybe all that is in our hands is to choose how and what we take from the events that do come to pass.

"I remember one night sitting with Jen and she told me that she wasn't afraid of death. She said, 'I have no regrets. Life isn't always easy, but the choices that I've made have brought me to where I am today and that's all that matters. If I were to die tomorrow, I would be happy with the life I've lived - what else is there?' Maybe I don't fully understand that yet, but I do believe that Jen lived an incredible life, one that she was proud ofÉ that we're all proud of. Yes, there are a lot of things that she won't get to experience, and that we won't get to share with her, but there is solace in the face of her happiness.

"Jen, I love you. I'll miss you. A day won't pass that your smiling face won't enter my thoughts."

As people started to come by and pay their respects to the family, Alex quietly slipped outside. Jayna was sitting on a bench in the garden and he sat down beside her, his eyes lowered towards the cobbled path in front of them.

"Alex, I'm so sorry about Jen, I wish I could take your pain away but I know that's not possible. All I can do is try to support you through this."

"I guess I'm just not ready to talk about it," he said. "I know I should have called you, I just couldn't. It doesn't make any sense."

"It's okay, I understandÉ well, I don't understand, but I'm trying to Alex. I love you and I don't want to make this harder on you. I just want to help you get through this. I'm going to miss her too you know," she said softly.

"I know Jayna. I think I just need some time to work through this, I don't feel right."

He glanced over at her and quickly back down when he met her gaze.

She held back tears, "Whatever you need Alex, I'll be here for you when you need me. I love you," she said softly before getting up and walking away.

"Thank you," he whispered once she had gone.

The coming months passed painfully. Alex grew more and more distant from his parents; they reminded him too much of Jen. They could tell he was struggling and tried to reach out to him but they too were trying to cope with the loss.

Terry and Lilian began seeing a therapist a month after Jen had passed. They urged Alex to join them but he refused. He wondered how talking to a stranger could possibly help ease the pain of what he was going through. Was there a magic set of words that would turn a switch in his brain and make him happy? It seemed unlikely.

Although he was convinced that therapy wasn't the answer, he also became aware that turning to substance wasn't either. One night in a moment of upset, he took LSD and once again felt the world tumbling down around him. Walls shook and crumbled and paint melted swirling patterns through his brain until nothing was left. Through the darkness came the most disturbing images his mind could create; stacks of mutilated bodies, children vomiting and crawling with insects, demonic creatures slick with dark, wet blood.

When the effects of the drugs had finally worn off, his mind was crushed. He sat huddled in the corner of his room, shaking with tears, trying to forget.

He then began a lone journey of self-discovery, trying to heal his damaged spirit. Alex could sense a disconnect between body and soul that he hadn't noticed before. It was as if his life had diverged along two separate paths and now he was wandering aimlessly along without truly being present. He imagined himself as Peter Pan, desperately trying to sew his soul back onto his body but couldn't manage to figure out how.

This journey took him on late night walks, trying to find the answers that troubled his mind but they wouldn't come. His sleeping pattern began to shift and he would stay in bed most of the day and wander out until the dark hours of the early morning before returning home.

Terry and Lilian started to get more and more worried about him. They tried desperately to help him but couldn't manage to get through. It wasn't until Alex told them one morning that he wouldn't be returning to university that they decided to finally confront him.

"You can't just give up on your life. We miss her too, I still wake up in the middle of the night hearing her voice, but she's gone Alex, and she wouldn't want us to tear ourselves apart about it," said Terry.

"What makes you think it's so simple?" shouted Alex. "Those are just words. It's fine to say that it's not what she would want but I can't live that, not yet. I'm not happy at school and I don't want to be there. I'm not going back, sorry, there's nothing you can."

"God Alex, I know it's hard," he paused, "Trust me, I know, but giving up isn't the answer. Let's make a deal, you take the Fall semester off, you spend three days at the retreat in Nanaimo, and we'll give you your space."

Alex had no intention of ever returning to university but he could see the pain in his parent's eyes, "Alright," he said, "deal."

"ÉI'm here because it will put my parents minds at ease," Alex replies. "They think there's something wrong with me because I'm not okay with my sister's death."

Marta smiles at him, but it isn't the sad smile that everyone has been forcing on him over the previous months; it is warm and understanding, it is honest. It envelopes him like he's a child again and for a second he feels himself slipping into her comfort, but he catches himself and quickly closes off, looking out the window.

She responds, "Alex, you may never be 'okay' with your sister's death, and that's just fine. All we can hope is to heal our pain, while never losing touch of the person we've lost."

The remaining five people introduce themselves in similar ways. They've all seen the face of loss; a husband, a son or daughter, a friend. You can see it in their faces, an odd strain that doesn't appear on most people, as if the body tried to age five years overnight but only managed to transform partially, odd wrinkles creeping across suddenly foreign places.

Alex feels no comfort in their presence. In his eyes they are all broken and he can't imagine how their tears could do anything to quench the anger laying deep inside his tired body.

The last of the five finishes his story and Marta thanks everyone for sharing. She reaches below her chair and brings out a black leather-bound binder. From it she pulls out six crisp pieces of paper and six yellow pencils, which she hands out to the group. The paper is cold and blank. Alex holds it delicately between two damp fingers as if he's never seen one before. His heart begins to beat harder against his chest and up through his neck and he hopes that no one can see the veins pumping hot blood viciously throughout his body.

Marta explains, "This is your sheet. Over the past days, months, years, you have been dealing with something incredibly painful. People who have never faced loss have no idea what you've been through. No one ever sat us down and told us how to cope with losing a loved one. We were never handed a set of rules describing the process of healing. Because we don't know how to cope with what has happened, we begin to piece together a way to keep people away from us. We think to ourselves, if I can't understand what I'm going through, how on earth could anyone else? And brick by brick, we form a wall. Everyone's wall is different, some are delicately fashioned from bits of wood, others are created out of enormous slabs of rock.

"No matter how they were created, if we want to heal, we must tear down the wall, bit by bit. I want you to all take some time right now to think about your wall. Try to visualize the ways that you've been keeping the people in your life away from you, and then take your pencil and start building your wall. I want you to label the different areas of it, each piece of your drawing should represent a different mechanism that you've been using to deal with your pain so far.

"Coming into a retreat like this, people are often afraid because they don't know what to expect. Well here it is, over the next three days, we're going to recreate your walls, and we're going to start showing you how to destroy them and let the people you love back into your life."

Alex stares at his sheet of paper, his heart still pounding, threatening to burst through his ribcage and out onto the paper in front of him. He imagines it's white muscular shell pumping hot red blood in neat patterns across his sheet, soaking through until the paper gives way and he's left with his heart in his lap, somehow still breathing with the gaping hole in his chest. His body jerks and he snaps back to reality, a blank sheet of paper, a pencil, and his thoughts.

Nervously, he thinks about the previous months, and he begins to draw. It starts out as just one shaky line going across the bottom of the page, then slowly another, and another, and another. The more lines he draws and connects, the faster they seem to pour out of him. He begins losing control of his hand as the dark lead fills the paper in a masterpiece of buried emotions. Bricks and stones and wood get hammered together like the remnants of a destroyed city. Alex builds his wall so tall and so thick that the idea of ever being able to break it down seems impossible. When he notices a gap, he quickly pours gravel and cement from his fingertips to extinguish any hope that might slowly grow and crack and erode the fortress he has built around himself.

Words begin to spill out onto the paper, hate, anger, pain, loss, avoidance, self-loathing, internalizing, denial, fear, isolation. Before long the wall is covered in dark grey graffiti. When he finally stops, the pencil is dull and his hand is shaking. Tears are dripping onto his creation and he doesn't care. He stares at the paper in front of him in complete disbelief. In a sad way, it is absolutely stunning. He had no idea that he could draw like that.

Looking at the clock, two hours have gone by since he started and he collapses back into his chair in exhaustion.

Marta smiles at him, "Alright everyone, we're going to stop there for now. I want you to take your drawings home tonight and keep working on them. I only ask that you don't erase anything that you've already placed. Add as much as you like, but know that whatever ends up on your wall is there for a reason."

By the end of the day Alex is exhausted. After working on their walls, they had stopped for lunch and then spent the afternoon talking about the different ways in which one keeps people at a distance. The other five shared more of their stories and thoughts, shed tears, choked on words, but Alex remained quiet, unsure how to act in the strange environment.

The drive home is quiet, and comfortable. From within the confines of the car, the outside world seems muted and Alex allows his mind to be blanketed in the silence and just focus on the road being illuminated by his headlights. It's seven o'clock before he gets near to his hotel and he stops at a drive through to pick up something to eat. When he gets into his room he heads straight for the couch and flops down in front of the TV. He flips through channels until he finds a re-run of a show he knows and stops, basking in its familiar comfort. All he wants to do is shutdown.

His wall sits unevenly on the coffee table and seems to stare up at him as he watches the show. The exhaustion from the day begins to make his eyes droop but slowly he catches himself and opens them. A large crash startles him and he looks up to see an enormous crack opening up in the ceiling. Alex jumps back on the couch as the drywall splits and shreds across the roof until the gap is a few feet wide. One by one, enormous slabs of rock tumble down, crashing onto the coffee table, sending splinters flying into the air. Bricks and gravel begin to mix in with the stones and in a thundering boom, the entire ceiling comes down onto the mound of rock that has formed.

The bed from the room above lands in the mix and is immediately destroyed by falling rocks. Long strips of barbed wire snake their way through the mix and add to the menacing tower in front of him. As the wall grows taller and taller, Alex begins to get frightened and realizes he has to climb over before it's too late, before he's trapped forever. He reaches up and a piece of wire shoots towards his hand, encircling it and cutting down to the bone. His screams are muffled by the thundering fall of debris.

Despite the pain, he takes his other hand and finds a rock to pull himself up. One by one he makes his way higher and higher up the wall until the ground is far below him. His entire body seems to throb from the cuts and scrapes but he persists. With each new stone that he touches, a new sensation fills his body. It's as if in a split second he relives an old memory or feeling. As his right hand grips high above his head, he sees himself sitting in the corner of a friend's house, away from the group, mind numb. Then his left hand moves, and a stab of pain shoots out from his heart and ripples throughout his body. His right hand moves again and he sees his emotionless face staring at Jen's casket.

This goes on for what seems like ages. As he reaches his hand up again it grazes something soft. Slowly he raises his eyes. At the top of the wall is his sister's lifeless body. He chokes. His fingers give way and he's falling towards the ground, Jen's face vivid in his mind. Just as he's about to hit the ground below, he jerks awake in a cold sweat, the TV still on, his shirt damp, tears rolling down his cheeks.

He can hear someone crying and it takes him a minute to realize that the sobbing is coming from him. Grabbing his knees, he pulls himself into a ball and cries himself to sleep.