The story behind...

... "When the Unthinkable Happens: The Death of a Child"

It was 1999 and we have already lost three children and had a blighted ovum pregnancy.

I was grieving so hard and had so many shattered dreams that I did not know what to do with myself. I was teaching US Law, but the rest of the time, I wallowed. 

I spent my time teaching and volunteering for the MISS Foundation, but I truly needed something else to look out of the grief-bubble I was living in.

My dear husband, knowing myself more than I do, told me that he would make a financial effort so I could go back to school. I decided to enroll in a Master program which would help me help others in grief. I was accepted to the Master in Family Sciences program at the Pontifical Institute John Paul II for the Study of Marriage and Family.

On August 1999, I went back to school! I had classes every Thursday and had lots and lots of reading and research during the rest of the week. I can honestly say that I enjoyed every minute of it, though I confess that I had some trouble with psychology. My favorite subjects were theology and philosophy, bioethics and, obviously, law.

In late 2000, we were directed to begin working on our dissertation. By that time, I knew I wanted to write about child death, a topic close to my heart. Not only because of my personal experience, because reaching out to others in grief became my life-line during my worst moments.

I had read many, many books on parental grief by then, all of them in English, but none in Spanish. The lack of validation of my feelings, emotions and thoughts, in my own language was definitely a strong reason to sit down before my computer for hours at a time, after spending many, many hours reading and researching. Thus my self-help writing journey begun.

I began writing about life and death: when does life begin and what are the signs of death. Then I did write about grief and its "stages". The theory of well-define stages and the true mess real grief is. 

I tried to explain to my target audience - bereaved families: moms, dads, siblings and grandparents - what to expect after a child died. I tried to validate all the craziness and the excruciating pain and the deep sorrow and the numbness and the rage and the guilt. 

Then, I tried to tell society in general and extended family, friends, medical personnel, teachers, priests and pastors and rabbis what does help and what does not help the bereaved. Here, I did not only used the extensive biography I had read. I used my experience as a MISS Facilitator, a HOPE Mentor and as a bereaved mom.

I learned along the way that, though society gives parents the "right" to grieve depending the age of the child at the time of death, no matter the age or the cause of death, parental grief has more similarities than differences. I have learned that the bereaved community is compassionate and caring and supporting. 

I have learned so, so much from each and every bereaved mom, dad, brother, sister, grandparent, aunt, uncle, friend that I wish I had the opportunity to thank each one, individually, for being the best of teachers.

I know I say this a lot, but I am truly honored and grateful that I have been given the chance to reach out and share the love and the pain and the MISSing and the remembering of each MISS member and bereaved parent I have met along the way.

Each child has a special place in my heart and I hold each family close in my prayers for gentler days, as it is the only thing, other than listen and be present, that I can do for them.

This book was finished in 2001. Though it spent most of its time since then in a drawer and in my computer's memory, I have added to it now and then. I am finally able to publish the Spanish version on December 2012 and I hope soon, I'll be able to publish the English one. 

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.

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.

September

Image via Wikipedia

Today is the first day of September.

Twelve yeas ago, I had been on bedrest for more than a couple of months. I was pregnant with our second child: a girl. As her brother died less than 6 months earlier, the dr decided that I was to be bed bound and taking a zillion hormones to help this little one grow.

I did all that the dr ordered. We were so looking forward to finally having a baby in our home.

But it didn't happen. At the end of August I began feeling "different". I called my dr and he said that I should not worry, that everything was OK. I finally got him to check on us on September 3rd.

I remember that day as if it was yesterday: lying on his stretcher, having an ultrasound done on my belly. Watching that beautiful baby, perfectly formed, completely immobile. I was in awe by her features. I didn't know I was supposed to watch her heart beating.

The dr told me to get dressed and that he would be in his office, ready to talk to us.

His words crashed our world for a second time: our baby was dead. As I write this, my chest gets tight and my breathing shallow.

Our beautiful baby girl was dead, I would never get the chance to hold her, to look into her eyes, to tell her I love her more than life itself.

Arrangements were made for me to get the hospital. I still get goose bumps as I felt my body betray me once again. I was my daughter's casket. I couldn't handle it anymore.

I could write a book on that horrible experience, minute by minute.

The fact is that I survived, we survived.

It was a couple of years later that I decided to be her voice, her siblings' voice. Their short lives matter. Their untimely deaths would impact the world we live in, one way or another.

I have to make sure I am able to hold them one day, I have to be my best self to get where they are: happy, loved and knowing no harm or pain.

Dearest Jo, until we meet again... Love, mommy

Lack of compassion

I had a meeting yesterday with some moms of my son's school.

We were having coffee and talking about nothing important when a someone asked who was leaving our school.

One lady began saying the names of the boys that were going away and she mentioned a boy whose brother died tragically almost 2 years ago. After that, she said that the boy was out of control and "impossible to deal with".

The gossip began: how? when? where? And someone loudly said: "he committed suicide". The faces changed immediately and again the questions began. Everyone had something to say.

I was sitting there, looking at them, not wanting to believe what I was hearing. How dare they say something like that!

I couldn't believe it! They were judging that family so lightly and with such authority and obviously my blood began to boil.

This family had to face one of life's tragedies: the death of a child. They are trying to survive. They are making adjustments to cope the best they can.

Of course this little boy is "impossible to deal with": he lost his older brother, the mom he knew before the tragedy, the dad he had before his brother died and the older siblings that spent more time with the one that died and witnessed the accident. He was trying to adjust to all these changes and was sent to a new school on top of everything else. Can you imagine being 8 years old and dealing with all this pain?

I tried to explain these facts to those ladies, but no, they were so involved in their gossip that didn't want to hear what I had to say.

I got up and left. I didn't want to be there anymore.

I deeply believe that there is no excuse for the lack of compassion, not whatsoever. Stupidity, ignorance, gossip, false pity are not excuses for me!