Official Hansard
Mr. Speaker, there are moments in this place when we speak about policy and there are moments when we speak about people. Today, as I rise to address Bill C-222, also known as Evan's law, I am speaking about both. I am mostly speaking about love, about loss and about what happens when the two collide in ways that change a family forever. With love, the heart is full. With grief, the heart is heavy. I want to begin by thanking my colleague across the aisle, the member for Burnaby North—Seymour, for bringing forward this legislation. I also want to acknowledge the extraordinary courage of Evan's family, who turned their deepest heartbreak into a force for change so that other families might be spared even a small portion of the pain they endured. Their advocacy reminds us that sometimes the most profound acts of love come from the places where our hearts are most broken. The journey to parenthood begins well before a child enters a home. Whether someone is expecting the birth of a child, becoming a step-parent or welcoming a child through adoption, families make the same kinds of preparations. Homes are reorganized, routines are reshaped and hearts are opened to make space for someone new. They look ahead to milestones, both small and large, like first steps and first words, school graduations, weddings, and the hope of grandchildren far in the future. Families prepare not just for a child, but for a future shaped by that child's place in their lives. However, sometimes life takes a different path than the one that was planned. Sometimes the dreams held so carefully are shattered in ways that leave families struggling to understand how they are supposed to continue breathing, let alone navigate bureaucratic processes and government forms. I know this reality, not just as a parliamentarian, but as a mother who has walked this path. Years ago, my husband and I lost a son. In the days and weeks that followed, even the most basic tasks, like grocery shopping, folding laundry and answering the phone, felt overwhelming. Ordinary moments could undo us. Hearing a parent call out their child's name could stop us in our tracks because it was our son's name. Tears would fall without warning and without reason. At the same time, life did not pause. We still had other children who needed care, routines that had to be maintained and a world that expected us to continue. We did, but it was hard. Each holiday, each celebration and each quiet reminder exposed just how vulnerable we were. It was the memories, the moments we had lived and the love we had shared that held the broken pieces together. What I know now, and what Bill C-222 so clearly recognizes, is the importance of time. When we lost our son, immediately the world felt completely upside down. We needed time to breathe, time to grieve and time to begin finding our way back to our daily routine, yet we only had two weeks. Too often, processes are built around administrative efficiency, yet families live their lives around moments; moments of joy and moments of profound loss. This bill would take an important step toward narrowing that gap. It invites us to reflect on how other federal systems handle the loss of a child. Beyond employment insurance itself, current federal rules often require parents to meet strict filing, reporting or notification deadlines within weeks of a loss. These timelines may be efficient from a systems perspective, but they are not designed for moments of tragedy. Extending federal deadlines by an additional 60 days would be a limited practical adjustment, one that does not expand government or create new benefits, but simply ensures federal processes better align with the realities families face in the immediate aftermath of a loss. The research shows us what any parent who has lost a child already knows. This kind of loss affects everything. It affects one's ability to concentrate, to sleep and to trust that anything will ever be the same again. Studies tell us that grieving parents experience increased rates of anxiety, depression and physical health problems. They struggle to return to work, not because they do not want to, but because their minds and bodies are trying to process something that fundamentally changes who they are. Even when employment insurance benefits barely cover families' expenses, they provide something more valuable than money. They provide space. They provide space to grieve without the added pressure of financial crisis, and space to be in the slow, difficult work of learning how to live in a world that no longer contains their child. Giving parents that space does not weaken our workforce. In fact, it strengthens it. Parents who are forced back to work too soon often struggle longer and return less prepared to engage fully. Parents who are given reasonable and structured time are better able to return and to contribute. Compassion in moments of loss is not a barrier to participation. It is often what makes participation possible, helping parents rebuild the bridge back to employment. Bill C-222 recognizes that when we lose a child, we do not stop being parents. We do not stop needing time to care for them, even if that care now looks different: arranging funerals, creating memorials and finding ways to honour a life that was too brief but no less precious. Under Bill C-222, parents would continue to receive employment insurance parental benefits until their benefit period expires, even after the death of a child. The bill would remove the requirement for new claims and reports during this time and work within the existing framework that already provides up to eight weeks of bereavement leave under the Canada Labour Code, acknowledging that this time can make the difference between surviving and drowning. These changes might seem small to someone who has never lived this reality, but to a parent trying to arrange their child's funeral while worrying about keeping the lights on, to a family struggling to return to routines that no longer make sense, or to someone trying to figure out how to go back to work when work feels meaningless, these changes are everything. Grief does not belong to any one party, and neither should compassion. This is not a partisan issue. This is about whether federal systems respond reasonably when Canadians face the most devastating moments of their lives. No member of the House is immune to loss. It will touch every community, every family and, at some point, every one of us. When it does, Canadians deserve systems that reflect not just efficiency but understanding. My Conservative colleagues have long advocated for improvements to the system, and we are pleased to see progress with Bill C-222, though we recognize this is only the beginning. The bill does not pretend that government can fix heartbreak. It cannot restore what has been lost or ease the pain that will always persist. What it can do is ensure that in a family's darkest moments, when it is least equipped to navigate systems, forms and bureaucratic requirements, it is met with understanding rather than additional hardship. When someone we love dies, we learn that grief is not something we recover from. It is something we learn to carry. The weight never fully leaves, but over time we learn how to balance it alongside all the other things we must carry: hope, responsibility and the determination to keep moving forward, not because the pain has ended but because love requires it. What Bill C-222 offers is recognition that love does not end with death and that neither does the work of being a parent. With love, the heart is full. With grief, the heart is heavy, and sometimes the heaviest hearts need the most support. I urge all members of the House to support Bill C-222, to stand with grieving families and to ensure that when Canadians face the unthinkable loss of a child, our response reflects the best of who we are as a nation.
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