February 10, 1982

In loving memory of César Roel González, beloved husband, father and grandfather

10/09/1909 - 2/10/ 1982

A little girl, very close to her extended family, who lived next door to her grandparents, was nervous on that particular day.

Her paternal grandfather had been in the ICU for the last two weeks. His health had been declining for the last couple of years mainly due to his cigarette addiction, but this was serious. A tragic accident happened, maybe related to his previous health problems but nobody knew the whys and the what ifs. Her parents hadn't been home on the past 15 days.

She had been invited to go to an amusement park for the birthday of a classmate. She didn't feel like going but her mom insisted. She had a good time with her friends, but her heart was heavy with worry.

After the girls arrived to the birthday girl's home, her mom called her to let her know that her granddad was doing "better", so mom needed to stay put at the hospital, therefore, she was to go home with another friend's mom.

"Mom, are you sure he is better?" - asked the little girl

"Yes sweetie, he is getting out of the ICU" - replied the mom

Two days later, her parents came home dressed in black. They summoned the girl and her two younger brothers to their bedroom. With tears in their eyes, they told their children that their granddad died 2 days before and he was already buried.

After some crying, the children were instructed to wash their faces and get ready. They were going to their grandparent's house to attend a Mass in memory of their beloved grandfather. "No crying please, your grand mom hasn't shed a tear and she need all of us to be strong" - were the last words she heard before going to her room to get ready.

No crying was allowed after that...

He got out of the ICU because he died. The mom didn't had the strength to tell her the truth: he had hours left. Her parents and her aunts and uncles decided to hurry through the wake and the burial. Everyone was emotional drained and wanted to get it over with. The children were "protected" by being left in the darkness for a couple of days.

That little girl was 11.

That was one of her first encounter with death.

That little girl was me.

No healthy mourning complicated the grieving process. Children need to have a strong role model in the difficult moments of their lives, so they can integrate the tragedies of life, overcome the worst and learn from the experience.

Yes, I did have strong role models: for suppressing my feelings, for burying my emotions and for not grieving in a healthy way.

It took me years of therapy to work through my complicated grief, that only got worse as other losses and the death of my own children. I didn't have the psychological tools needed to mourn and grieve in a healthy way.

Honestly, I no longer blame my parents - because I blamed them for a loooooooong time. I now know that they did what they could with the tools they had at hand. They are experts hiding their pain, it is a survival mechanism. They did their best after the traumatic and tragic death of my grandfather.

I don't know if my grandfather's death and the subsequent suppressing of our feelings and emotions affected my other family members. It is a topic that became a taboo in our family, so I haven't talked about it within my family circle in the last 30 years.

Tragic, I know.

Maybe that particular moment in time impacted me so much, that I became a obsessed with death and dying.

Maybe my complicated grief and the pain of cleansing my old wounds has pushed me to work with the bereaved as soon as possible.

Maybe that little, frightened, hurt girl in me has found the strength to overcome her pain and reach out to others and be very, very vocal about healthy grieving.

Today I repeat the words of William Faulkner:

"Given the choice between grief and nothing, I'd choose grief".

-Because love is stronger than death...

P.S.- Please, please don't let this story repeat. Face your pain and work through it, be a strong, healthy grief-role model for the kids in your life. If you are unable to do so, reach out and find someone that will be able to teach your kids how to grieve in a healthy way.

The real meaning of Mother's Day...

Image by Gabludlow via Flickr

To all mothers whose children died before their time...

I decided to come out of the closet: I hate Mother's Day!

I know "hate" is a strong word, but I really do hate the date. Why? Because it has become a Hallmark holiday. Because I don't need a special day to tell my mom I love her. Because I don't like how consumerism force my children into feeling bad if they don't "give" me a gift to show me their love. Because I don't need a special day to go out and eat with my family.

OK, I admit that the date has become more of a nuisance since my oldest baby died. But I can honestly say that I don't like the date at all, even now when I have three living children that fill my days with love and my arms with their hugs.

I don't need flowers or gifts to know I am appreciated by my children and my husband. I don't want them to feel obligated to do something special for me on a set date. I appreciate their small gestures everyday, those are the ones that let me know that I am loved.

So, back to the title of today's post. I am here quoting my dear friend Kara, from whose blog I copy the following:

In 1870, Julia Ward Howe wrote and published a protest against the carnage and violence of the Civil War -- this was a protest led by WOMEN WHO HAD LOST THEIR SONS!!!!! It was bereaved mothers who started this!!!! Hallmark is WAY OFF the mark with the way this holiday is commercialized and propagated now, BUT in the beginning, this was a day of protest, an expression of horrified grief from bereaved mothers who were parted from their sons!! Wow. Okay. That's a different spin.

So what did Julia have to say back in 1870? You read and see for yourself:

Arise, then, women of this day! Arise all women who have hearts, whether our baptism be that of water or of fears!

Say firmly: "We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies. Our husbands shall not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause. Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn all that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.

We women of one country will be too tender of those of another country to allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs. From the bosom of the devastated earth a voice goes up with our own. It says "Disarm, Disarm! The sword of murder is not the balance of justice."

Blood does not wipe our dishonor nor violence indicate possession. As men have often forsaken the plow and the anvil at the summons of war, let women now leave all that may be left of home for a great and earnest day of counsel. Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.

Let them then solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means whereby the great human family can live in peace, each bearing after their own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar, but of God.

In the name of womanhood and of humanity, I earnestly ask that a general congress of women without limit of nationality may be appointed and held at some place deemed most convenient and at the earliest period consistent with its objects, to promote the alliance of the different nationalities, the amicable settlement of international questions, the great and general interests of peace.

Julia Ward Howe
Boston
1870

You see? Mother's Day is about those women that lost their children to death. It is not about gifts, flowers, small appliances and cards. Is about compassion and love... Love that survives beyond death.

The Death and Life of Charlie St. Cloud.

Cover of Charlie St. Cloud: A Novel

The Death and Life of Charlie St. Cloud, by Ben Sherwood, is one of the books I read this summer.

The book description says: "... tells the haunting story of a young man who narrowly survives a terrible car wreck that kills his little brother. Years later, the brothers' bond remains so strong that it transcends the normal boundaries separating life and death... By day he (Charlie) tends the lawns and monuments of the ancient cemetery where his younger brother, Sam, is buried. Graced with an extraordinary gift after surviving the accident, he can still see, talk, and even play catch with Sam's spirit...

"... Luminous, soulful, and filled with unforgettable characters, The Death and Life of Charlie St. Cloud is one of those rare, wise books that reveal the mysteries of the unseen world around us, gently transforming the worst pain of loss into hope, healing, and even laughter. Suspenseful and deeply moving, its startling climax reminds un that sometimes tragedies can bring about miracles if we simply open our hearts."

As many of you might remember, I have had the honor of working with bereaved parents for a little more than 11 years through volunteering at The MISS Foundation.

"Death and Life", that is how parental bereavement feels like. We die when our child dies and we, then, learn to live a new life that is robbed of present and future, a new life that is filled with pain and sorrow, a new life that has many, many lessons and gifts to offer, as we open our hearts and souls and minds to listen, to find healing and peace and happiness again.

I've heard how many are afraid of forgetting their precious children. How people tell them that they should "let go", so their babies are able to "rest in peace". How they wished they could see, talk, hug and kiss their beautiful children one more time.

I have leaned from my own personal experience and from the wisdom shared by many that walk their own grief journey along with me, that parenting a dead child is possible.

We are able to transcend the physical realm to parent our dead child. How?

It is not easy, as we live and communicate through our bodies. The first urge a new mom has is to hug and cuddle her precious newborn. We, as bereaved parents, are not able to do so; but we can still hug them and kiss them in our hearts.

How I wish I had the power to give each and every bereaved parent a gift like Charlie's? How I wish they could find the way to talk and play and hug and kiss their precious little ones? Sadly, I can't.

The only power I have is the one my choices give me:

I chose to be present and willingly walk the grief journey of those that allow me to walk with them.

To lend a hand.

To know those precious children through the loving eyes of their courageous parents.

To do my best in the time I have on earth, to be worthy of finally hug and kiss and love my children to eternity.

Thirteen years

Image by spiderflux via Flickr

Grief changes shape,

but it never ends.

-Keanu Reeves

I remember April 6th, 1997 as if it was yesterday.

My husband had been gone for 2 weeks in a trip and I was pregnant with our first baby. I was at the beginning of the second trimester.

My mom picked me up early that day. We went to buy flowers and she helped me to fill our small condo with them. We had lunch together and we made plans for the little one I was expecting. We talked about what I would do when he was born, I was still teaching at a Law School and I was planning to leave him with her while at school.

She left me in the evening and I got ready to pick my husband at the airport.

I bought some water and sat down waiting for his plane to land. I went to the bathroom and noticed the red blood.

I called my ob-gyn and he said to stay put and called him the next day if I was still bleeding.

The bleeding got heavier. I remember watching my husband arrive and walking as slow as possible. The tears began to flow as I told him what was happening. His excited face turned into horror.

We went home and we called the doctor again. He prescribed some hormones. My husband went to buy them. They did the trick.

Around 4:00 am, I felt the urge to run the bathroom. There was blood everywhere. I called my husband and we called the doctor again.

He saw us around 7:00 am. He did an ultrasound, there was nothing left of our baby.

I was numb. We went to the movies, not wanting to think or to feel. Avoiding reality the best we could.

I cried my eyes out that day.

The next day, my husband went to work and I the pain started. I couldn't breathe. I called him and my mom. I don't know who called the dr.

I was rushed to the hospital and had a D&C done that afternoon. Part of the placenta was responsible for the labor pains I experienced. We learned from it that we lost our dear son.

Thirteen years have passed since that tragedy.

Dearest Cesar, you are always in my heart and in my mind. I love you beyond death and I MISS you beyond words. Until we meet again my dear one.

Time goes on... and so does life

Image by massdistraction via Flickr

Eleven years ago yesterday, I woke up in the middle of the night with the gut feeling that my baby had died.

One week before, we had a successful ultrasound. The baby was healthy and thriving. Its little heart was beating fast and we were ecstatic.

I remember waking up my husband and telling him that I knew the baby had died. I had the urgency of picking up a name: for a boy, José Luis; for a girl, Carlota.

He told me to make an appointment for another ultrasound as soon as the doctor was open, and so I did. At 1:00 pm, we found out that our baby had died. She measured exactly the gestational age she was supposed to be.

In a blur, I went home and packed, and my husband made reservation to fly as soon as possible to our US doctor.

Today, eleven years ago, our worst nightmare was confirmed: our baby died. She had a neurotubal defect that claimed her life.

We spent together the next 20 days. I was not ready to let her go, even though I knew she was already gone. During those days, we had so many tests and exams done, that most of our time was spent at the hospital.

Finally, on December 22, I decided to have surgery to end my pregnancy.

I never got to see her or hold her. Her little body did not survive spending 20 days dead, nor the surgery.

We later found that she was a girl: thus Carlota was named.

Nobody remembered her yesterday, except me and my MISS friends. I am used now to the forgetfulness around me.

My body remembered in a not-so-funny way. I came down with bronchitis and laryngitis a week ago. Our bodies always remember those horrible, tragic moments, even if our minds try to block it out.

Eleven years ago, I was sure I would not survive the pain and sorrow of loosing my baby girl and her brother and sister, in less than 2 years. I thought I would die of sadness....

... Eleven years later, I am a survivor. I enjoy life -most of the time- to be honest. I love those three children that were given to me to be raised, they feel my life with joy and wonder. I love my husband more than I did back then. I am honored to have known so many wonderful children, whose lives ended before their time, through their loving parents' eyes.

Sweet girl, you will always, always be loved and MISSed. No matter how long I live, I will always remember you. Thank you for choosing me to be your mommy, you and your siblings have been the greatest teachers one could hope for.

When in doubt...

Image via Wikipedia

There is a principle in moral and ethics that states: "when in doubt, don't act".

I have found to exceptions to this principle. Both in Canon Law, regarding the Sacraments of Baptism and Anointment of the Sick.

If there is the slightest possibility that the person who will receive the Sacrament is dead, it is better to administer the sacrament instead of not doing so.

I believe that the same exception applies to compassion.

If you think that the person needs your support, please reach out. It is better to be told not to do so, or that there is no need to be compassionate, than leave a needed person alone.

When working with bereaved parents, we are trained to watch their body language and look for the signs to approach them in a more personal level.

In my experience, a hug is always better than leaving them alone. If you are not comfortable hugging, maybe you could reach out squeezing their arm or patting their back.

When in doubt, never, ever leave someone in pain by themselves.

Survivors of Suicide, November 21, 2009

Image via Wikipedia

I follow some blogs.

Many relate to grief, parental loss, the struggle of everyday life, parenting, art, cooking and crafts.

I love to read what my friends share with me. This is taken from my dearest friend Kara, Kota's mom.

Suicide leaves a lot of unanswered questions inside the loved ones of the person that couldn't take his/her pain anymore and decided to end it. I am not talking about ending his/her life, I believe that those that attempt suicide just want their internal pain to stop, one way or another.

I am a survivor of suicide. A dear family member killed himself when I was 11 years old. Obviously, the fact that he had died by his own hands was kept from me until I was 18 years old. That was when my world shattered for the first time. I loved him dearly and I know he loved us more than life itself, so you can imagine that I couldn't comprehend why he killed himself. It took me a lot of grief work (repressed for 7 years) and a lot of therapy to make my brain understand the why's and to let my heart forgive him and the rest of the family for his death.

If you or anyone you know are survivors of suicide loss, please take into account the following information:

On Saturday, November 21, 2009, simultaneous conferences for survivors of suicide loss will take place throughout the U.S. and internationally. This unique network of healing conferences helps survivors connect with others who have survived the tragedy of suicide loss, and express and understand the powerful emotions they experience.

Each conference site is organized locally, but they’re all connected in spirit as participants across the globe watch a special 90-minuteAFSP broadcast together on that day. In the U.S., conference sites will show the broadcast together from 1-2:30 p.m. Eastern Standard Time and international sites will show it from 1-2:30 p.m. local time. Many conference sites plan their own local programs around the broadcast, including panels and breakout groups, all aimed at helping survivors heal.

For those survivors of suicide loss who don't live near a conference site or who find it difficult to attend in person, the 90-minute broadcast will also be available live on the AFSP website from 1-2:30 pm, Eastern Standard Time, with a live online chat immediately following the program. It will then be saved on the website so that survivors can watch it again throughout the year at anytime. For more information see the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention:

http://www.afsp.org

Butterflies & Dragonflies

Image via Wikipedia

The tragedy of child death leaves the family in a profound chaos.

It doesn't matter the age of the child at the time of death or the cause of death. Each family member has to work hard to redefine him or herself, to find their new role within the family and to find a way to survive.

Little by little, as the first months go by and the emotional anesthesia draws away, the bereaved parents search for new ways to reconnect with their dead child... maybe because they are not ready to say good bye, maybe because love trascends death.

Paraphrasing Dr. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, death is the final liberation from the cocoon, the butterfly is free to open its wings and fly away.

It is curious how bereaved parents, from different cultures and from different parts of the world, identify the presence of butterflies - and in some cases, of dragonflies - as special visits from their dead child.

I know that for many strain from the subculture of parental bereavement, this idea is completely deranged, but who are we to judge how a parent copes with the death of their beloved child?

Wouldn't it be more compassionate not to judge and appreciate the beauty that nature offers?

Every time you see a butterfly near you, with its beautiful colors, imagine that someone who is not physical presence is saying hi.

When you see a dragonfly, with its transparent wings and its color body, flying erratic nearby, think of a kiss someone special is sending you from above.

Open your heart and close your mind for a bit... remember: love is stronger than death.

October 15th - Infant and Child Death Awareness Day

There is no greatest tragedy than the death of a child.

The terrible reality of child death is one that many families experience everyday. It does not matter the circumstances of death and the age the child had at time of death.

That family is facing the horror of burying their child. We are used to believe that our children are supposed to survive us, not the other way around.

My older children died before their time. For a long time I believed that I was alone in my grief. Those close to me, turned their eyes away at the sight of my tears. My world had stopped, why everyone wanted me to move on?

One sleepless night, while surfing the Web, I found the most compassionate woman I have ever met: Dr. Joanne Cacciatore. She grant me permission to translate some of her writings. That is how I came in touch with The MISS Foundation.

I have been given the opportunity to reach out and give back the support I received back then, in my early grief.

I have been a MISS Volunteer for the past 11 years of my life. I found my MISSion: I am the voice of those three little babies that died before their time.

I am thankful to all those families that have allowed me to walk with them through their grief journey. I am honored to share their most intimate feelings and thoughts. I am honored to meet their children through their loving parents' eyes.

I am thankful for the MISS Foundation for letting me give back. I am thankful for the wonderful people I've met, my dear friends Kara, Janice, Debbie, Lissy, Wendy, Kerrie, Tracy, Lorri, Rhonda, Karin, Sinead, Tazzy, Vicki, Sharon, Shanon, Kelli, Anna, Michele, and so many others.

I am thankful to Dr. Cacciatore, for having the strength to reach out after tragedy stoke her hard.

I am thankful for Chey, for sharing her special mom with the rest of the world.

From my Life Quote of the Day Gadget

Image by loswl via Flickr

People living deeply have no fear of death ~Anais Nin

Are you afraid of death?

What are you afraid of? Your own death or the death of a loved one?

I can honestly say that before my children died, I was terrified of my own death. I was scared of what would happen in the after life.

My perception of my own mortality changed with the tragedy of loosing my own children. I remember in my early grief wishing to go to sleep and never wake up. I wanted to die, not only to stop the horrible pain I was experiencing, but to join them, wherever they are.

I lost the fear of dying. What better gift to be reunited with those babies for ever?

The question arose: Was I absolutely sure I would join them?

That, among other considerations, stopped me for killing myself.

I knew then, that I had to make the most of the time I had left on this Earth in order to hug my children one more time, forever.

I have to life to the fullest. Making every second count. Being their voice in this life. In short: making them proud.

I do fear the death of those I love, but I have learned that I have no control over what may come.

I fear the pain, but I do not fear my grief, who has become a dear friend of mine.

What my children in heaven have taught me is to embrace life -with its happiness and its deep sorrow-, always to say "I love you" to those I love. To enjoy the sunrises and the sunsets I have the chance to witness. No matter what others might think, hug and kiss those I love.

Death in our lives

Image via Wikipedia

One way or another, death is always there. Like a monster in the closet, a shadow on the corner of our room, like an unexpected visitor, like a dear friend.

Its presence is felt differently depending our own fears about our own death and that loved one we fear might die.

If we are OK with the reality of our own mortality, death will come easier than to those who fear it.

But death, ultimately, is about the death of others. The effect it will have upon us depends on our attachment to them.

We are so used to listen about death that we don't notice the times the "d" word reaches our ears. All news programs refer to death at least once. Tragedy is present in every corner of our world and with the easiness that media gets to the facts and the way it gets to us, it is more present than ever.

Sometimes, when we are with our friends and family, someone will relate that someone's friend, cousin, brother, sister, aunt, nephew, niece, grandparent, parent, wife, husband or child died. It might cause an impact on us, but not the same way someone we love died.

That love we have for one another is what changes our views on death. When it reaches OUR friend, cousin, brother, sister, aunt, uncle, nephew, niece, grandparent, partner or child it devastates us in ways we never thought possible.

What matters in death, is the death of a person we love. It will break the relationship we have, the communication between us will get "disconnected", our life - as we knew it- will end.

Those of us who work with the bereaved, usually think about those left behind with death comes.

I can't fail to think - even to say a little prayer - for that parent, partner, child, relative or friend of that person that died.

Today, a dear friend of one of my cousins died. He was 39 and died of a massive heart attack. It has already made the news. But I just can think of those parents that have joined a club they never wanted to be a part of, of that young widow that is alone from now on to raise their children, of those children that will grow without the physical presence of their loving dad, of those friends that were so close to him, that will miss him dearly.

Tonight, my heart goes out to them and I just pray that they find the strength to find peace after the tragedy stroke hard.

Love v. Fear

Image by anadah via Flickr

There is no fear in love, ...perfect love expels fear ~Henri Nouwen

I have been a volunteer for The MISS Foundation for 11 years now.

When I meet someone and they ask what I do and I explain that I work as a volunteer with families after the death of a child, no matter their age or the cause of death, a question always arises: "How can you do that every day?"

Honestly, I do what I do, first and foremost, to honor the memory of those three babies of mine that died before their time.

Second of all, I do it because I am honored to be allowed to walk with these wonderful people through their grief journey and to meet their children through their loving eyes.

I am always in awe to see, to hear and to read so much love, even through the most horrible, inexplicable and raw pain they are in.

They have had to bury their precious children, they have faced the most horrible tragedy a human being should experience: the death of a child.

Still their love shines through.

Once in a while the question comes: "would you change a thing in your life if you already knew the outcome?"

"No!" That is the answer they'll give.

Would you rather not knowing your child if you knew he/she would die? No.

It is worth the pain of loosing a child to death, just to be able to feel that undying, maternal love. It is worth the pain of burying one's child, just to have seen the look in his/her eyes.

And all the rawness of that terrible grief is worth, just to have gotten into one's child's embrace and hearing "I love you mom"


Because love is stronger than death.