REGINA — The apartment is quiet now. Too quiet.
The laughter, the motion, the bright and constant energy that once filled a local family's home is now gone. In its place is grief, love, and a mother’s resolve to make sure her son’s life and death are not forgotten.
Henry Losco was only 11 years old when he died from carbon monoxide poisoning on December 19, 2025. His father, Sergio was hospitalized, and his recovery continues.
Now, through unimaginable loss, Henry's mother, Marina is choosing to speak publicly, not to point fingers, but to protect other families from experiencing the same heartbreak.
“Children aren’t supposed to die,” she said quietly. “This went against the natural order of things. He was healthy. He was only 11.”
Marina describes Henry as joy itself. A devoted son. A bright, curious boy who loved trumpet, chess, and soccer. The kind of child whose presence changed the feeling of a room.
“The life that Henry brought into our house was just happiness and love,” she said. “Now it’s just the two of us. It’s really quiet.”
Every morning and every night bring fresh waves of pain. Henry’s urn now rests beside his parents’ bed.
“Mornings hurt a lot,” Marina said. “But so does night.”
She recalls the weeks leading up to the tragedy, when the family felt unwell but had no reason to suspect the danger they were living in. Headaches. Fatigue. Scratchy throats. They blamed the winter air, the dry climate, the stress of a recent move.
They never imagined carbon monoxide was the cause.
The night Marina returned home and found her husband and son unconscious is one that will never leave her.
“That image lives behind my eyes every second,” she said. “It doesn’t matter if my eyes are open or closed. I see that night in everything I do.”
Sergio narrowly survived.
“It really is a miracle,” Marina said. “We’re not seeing signs of brain or heart damage. I believe Henry kept him alive. There’s no medical answer for why Sergio survived that long.”
Through grief, Marina’s focus has turned outward. She wants Henry’s story to be a warning, and a call to action.
“If there’s something to learn from this tragedy,” she said, “it’s that you need to check your carbon monoxide alarms. If you’re renting, you need to demand safe homes and safe buildings.”
She knows her words are impacting people. Parents have reached out, their voices shaking, telling her they have children Henry’s age.
“I feel the emotion in their voices,” she said. “And I don’t ever want another mother to go through what I went through.”
The loss came just days before Christmas. Gifts had already been bought, Jolly, Henry's Elf on the Shelf was in place. Henry believed in the magic of the season.
“We didn’t get that Christmas with Henry,” Marina said.
On Christmas Eve, while her husband remained in the hospital, Marina went alone to the funeral home to sit with her son.
“That’s what I did for Christmas Eve,” she said.
Still, she speaks of the future, not for herself, but for Henry.
“We’re going to build Henry’s legacy,” she said. “We’re going to carry it forward as best as we can and keep his memory alive.”
Her hope is simple and urgent. That people listen. That they check their alarms. That they demand safety. That no other family has to live with the silence she now wakes up to every day.
“You never know when the last time is that you’ll see your child,” Marina said. “So don’t take them for granted.”
