Fallen officer 'the best dad': widow

There is no more commanding authority than that conferred by inconsolable grief.

As Christine Russell, the widow of Sgt. Ryan Russell, made the long walk down the red carpet toward the stage at the makeshift shrine inside the Metro Toronto Convention Centre on Tuesday, the hall grew terribly silent.

Over the next two hours, there would be prayers and tears and laughter as luminaries and colleagues remembered Russell, by every account a man of uncommon vibrancy.

But when it came his wife's turn to speak, that terrible silence fell over the hall again.

There is in the word "awe" a sense not only of wonderment, but also something of fear in front of the unknowable.

Christine Russell is living all of our worst fears. The 12,000 on hand responded with awe as she rose from her seat.

She saluted her escort, and set out for the stage with great purpose. But the strength began to drain from her as she mounted the steps. Those last two took an eternity.

When she arrived, the three decorated officers seated on the podium stood to attention so briskly they left their feet. That authority again. She gripped the podium hard and kept her eyes downcast at first. She gulped for breath, on the edge of sobs.

"I am so honoured to stand here right now," she began. "Because of all of you" - and here she let out a small groan - "I'm able to stand here."

There were brief words of thanks on behalf of the family for the support received from friends and strangers. Then her voice rose, and she seemed to begin the main thrust of her eulogy for her husband.

"Ryan always put others before himself. On January 12th, this cost him his life."

All the remembrances that had come before seemed needlessly ornate next to this perfect two-sentence summation of mindless tragedy.

"We are so honoured to have been a part of your life, Ryan. You are an inspiration. You are our hero," she said, hammering the present-tense verb. "Thank you for loving us."

She staved off tears - only barely. As she teetered on the edge of collapse, it was, at times, unbearable to watch.

Whatever you believe, funeral services provide the comfort of ritual in the midst of life-shattering change. Even those unaccustomed to loss instinctively know their roles.

But few of us will ever have to stand up a week after our husband or daughter or sister dies violently and give a speech in front of thousands about what they meant to us. Christine Russell not only did that, but she spent most of her two minutes and 19 seconds consoling others, hardly mentioning her own despair.

She recalled a loving husband, friend, colleague, and parent to their 2-year-old son, Nolan. She singled out her father-in-law, former cop Glenn Russell, who looked bereft throughout, and reminded him, "You were Ryan's hero. He loved you and worshipped you."

A mournful gospel rendition of Let It Be rang out as Russell returned to her seat, where the family waited to re-envelop her in a protective cocoon.

Christine Russell worked to give all those who didn't know her husband, and yet felt the loss at his death, some sense of meaning and a bit of connection to him. She spoke on behalf of those who knew and loved him. She provided a city with the permission it needed to move forward.

And this morning, she will wake up and restart her life.