XO, Isabel

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My first funeral

November 2, 20132 Comments

I was thinking about my first funeral the other day. My initial thoughts were that for most people, their first funeral was more than likely a grandparent or an elder relative. A small survey amongst my friends confirmed for me that this mostly holds true. I also found that for most, their first funeral was at around the age of eight or nine.

I am the exception. My first funeral was not a grandparent or an elder relative. I lost two of my grandparents before I was born, and my third after only meeting him once and at the age of five. I was thankful to have my Abuelita (grandmother in Spanish) until 2008. I have been to many, many funerals in my life. Most were lives cut tragically short. My first funeral is no exception. I will describe what this was like, but not before warning you. You should not continue reading if death is disturbing to you, especially if it involves a baby.

You’ve been warned.

I was about eight years old when I went to my first funeral. So far, we’re in the realm of averages for funeral attendance. Here’s where it all ends: My first funeral was for a young woman and her stillborn baby. I can’t even remember this young woman’s name. I cannot recall if her baby girl was given a name, either. I cannot even remember her husband’s name. But, I can remember the name of their daughter that was left to live with the aftermath of losing her mother at the age of four. I remember her little face filled with sorrow and confusion. Her bob haircut and bangs there were cut bluntly across her forehead, just like mine were.

Her mother was in her mid to late 20’s. I’m pretty sure she was around 24 – 26 years of age. She was a Jehovah’s Witness, as I was when I was a kid. She belonged to our congregation and was full-term when she went into labor with her second daughter. Her baby died. All that I know is that she had severe bleeding, beyond that I am unsure as to what exactly happened. However, since she was a Jehovah’s Witness she would have signed a legal medical directive to refuse all blood transfusions. A blood transfusion or blood substitute could have saved her life, but since I am not privy to the details, I can’t say for certain. It was her deeply held belief and it more than likely was a contributing cause to her death. I could write a lot more about what I think about this, out of respect for her choice and her life and others I know, I will not.

NO-BLOOD-TRANSFUSION

So, there is the context in which I attended my first funeral at the age of eight. It was an open casket funeral with a lot of mourners. The woman had beautiful dark hair, much like the baby in her arms and the daughter she left behind. I remember she was wearing a pretty dress and her baby, with its blue and dry little lips, was cradled in her arms. Forever.

This image has stuck with me all these years. Those images. It’s sort of hard to erase them from your mind. It was traumatic. Even now, I can’t shake that sense of sadness for that little girl left behind. The longing in her eyes for her mother to come back to her. I have no idea what ever happened to that little girl. Her father remarried rather quickly and had more children, too. The hair color of the family always stuck with me because that little girl’s new stepmom had blonde hair. And her new little half-siblings had very light hair. It was a reinforcement that she was the only thing left behind from her mother’s union to her father.

This funeral introduced me to the fact that babies died sometimes. That mothers could die, too.

Later, I would discover that my great-grandmother also died during childbirth and left behind several children, including a very small child that had Down Syndrome and was completely dependent on his mother. They say he died of a broken heart after her passing. Or maybe it’s just that no one knew how to meet his needs and care for him in the 1920’s in Mexico.

Over the years, I’d attend many more funerals. Accidents. A shooting. Cancer. Accidental overdose. Heart attacks. And many more accidents. But even now as an adult, I don’t think I could ever be prepared for a mother and child together in death. It is a sorrow of the deepest kind. More than I can even imagine. For something that was meant to bring so much joy, it was marked with incredible grief and trauma.

I guess the only advice I can give, thanks to one of my friends that is a Funeral Director, is to talk to your children about death when appropriate. If there is a death in the family or someone in your community, talk to your child about death and the funeral process and rituals. Give your child a choice as to whether or not they would like to attend. Respect his or her wishes. And then talk some more. Keep the line open to speak about death and relieve any fears he or she might have. Death is a part of life. It’s a cycle and we will all face it in one way or another. Having a healthy perspective on this part of life will only help your child in the long run.

XO, Isabel

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Filed Under: Faith & Spirituality, Stillbirth Tagged: death, funeral, stillborn

A little boy named Benjamin

September 12, 201313 Comments

One month ago on August 12, we began a journey that we hadn’t anticipated.

One month ago, we discovered that Leo’s heart stopped beating.

One month ago, we received news that our youngest nephew, Benjamin, took his first breath of life.

Our first meeting. The first smile I witnessed.

One month ago, a pendulum of grief and joy swung wildly.

I want to talk about Benjamin. A little boy, that up until close to being born, had no name. And even shortly after his birth was Benjamin No-Name, since his middle name couldn’t be decided. He’s the youngest of 4 boys, and that’s a lot of names to think up! Even still, I think he’s a Benjamin through-and-through. Even though we were hoping for names like Bruno, Barnaby or even Batman. Who wouldn’t want to be Batman!?

It was sort of a surreal day. We had received the devastating news on that Monday morning. We sent out an email to our family and closest friends about Leo’s death. It would be rough for us physically in the next few days. My sister-in-law was really supportive. She was nearing the end of her pregnancy and we feared that she would go into pre-term labor, since she had been dealing with this already. She stayed in contact most of the day. Then some time passed and I hadn’t heard from her. I thought it was strange but didn’t think too much of it. Later that night, we received a text message that she was going to be having a c-section in 45 minutes. It was already late at night. I will admit, I had hoped that Benjamin would be born the next day. And not on this Monday. I wanted him to have a cool birthday. 8/13/13. But, it wasn’t to be. He was born that night, about a half-hour before midnight.

We received late night texts with pictures of his little face and immediately exchanged the WHO-HE-LOOKS like messages. It was bittersweet, it was.

In some ways, I felt guilt for his parents having share this day with us. Because, I know they were sad for us and they were experiencing their own feelings for the birth of their son. A birth is something to be celebrated! Pictures! And all the mushy stuff that goes along with babies. Somehow it was deeply recognized that their joy also had a flip-side; our grief.

Benjamin’s birth was the first of his nephews’ that my husband had missed. He had sworn that he would always be there for the birth of any niece or nephew born into this family. I think he felt a little helpless at not being able to be there for Benjamin’s birth. He knew it would be impossible. Not only would distance keep us from attending the birth with how quickly it all transpired, but also because we had to tend to my medical and emotional needs. Everyone would understand. And they did.

Since we’re Jewish, we knew that if Benjamin was healthy enough (he was born about 5 weeks premature, but was a healthy little thing), his Brit Milah would be on the 8th day after his birth. I will admit, this frightened me. I wasn’t sure if I could be there for this event. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to face everyone. Everything was so very fresh. I had so many different feelings, but ultimately knew that out of respect and love, we would be with our family on this joyous occasion. But most of all, I never ever want Benjamin to have to ever suffer because of what happened to us. If we had stayed home, he’d be none-the-wiser, but we would know.

Unfortunately, since Benjamin was a little premature, he developed jaundice. He had to be admitted to the hospital for some light therapy and therefore his Brit would have to be delayed by a few days. I’ll admit I was a little relieved. It took all our strength to prepare ourselves to go so soon, and the extra days of processing our ordeal proved to be extraordinarily helpful.

We were excited to meet Benjamin and I did feel a little bit of guilt for not meeting him sooner. I mean, I actually photographed the birth of his older brother. I was there the moment he had taken his first breath. I had hoped to be able to do the same for Benjamin.

Prior to us going, I was in communication with my sister-in-law about how we would go about meeting Benjamin for the first time. I admitted that I thought it would be emotional and that I would cry. A lot. I pictured myself holding him and falling to pieces wondering why this had to happen to us and how I’ll never hold my own son. She was kind and offered to give us a meeting space in the privacy of their bedroom. Just my husband and his brother and the two of us, and of course, Benjamin. The offer was kind and thoughtful and I wanted that very much. I didn’t want an audience for my emotions and if I was going to cry, I wanted it to be more intimate.

We made the two-hour trip back home to be with our family and to meet Benjamin. We were invited up to the bedroom almost upon arriving, but not before receiving hugs from the family and my other three nephews. They each have their own unique understanding of our circumstance. The oldest is 16 and he well-understood what we lost. He was kind and loving and embraced us and asked us if we were okay. Our 7 year-old nephew embraced us, too. And though he didn’t say anything, I know he understood that I wasn’t pregnant anymore. The last time I saw him he kissed my belly. He almost let himself slip and did it, but he stopped himself and instead just hugged me again. Our 4 year-old nephew is blissful in innocence, as it should be. And for that, I was thankful. He gave us hugs and kisses just because we are his aunt and uncle and he was happy to see us.

We finally made it upstairs to meet Benjamin. And how sweet and tiny he was! I took him in my arms and I was in love. I thought I was going to get emotional, but I didn’t. Instead, it felt warm and peaceful. I was happy. I was happy to be there and I was happy to be his aunt. I was even happy that I got to be Leo’s mom, no matter how brief, and it was because of that brevity that I was able to appreciate this experience all the more. I didn’t want to let go of him. I would brush my finger near the side of his lips and on his cheek to see if I could coax a smile out of him, and I did. He also continued the tradition of his brothers and peed on me a few times. Those boys sure are super soakers! I took several pictures and later my sister-in-law would point out how he had on different outfits in all the photos since he had soaked through his clothes so many times.

When it was time for the ritual to begin, the Mohel asked if they’d like to do the Baby Naming Ceremony as well. They said yes and they provided his Hebrew name of Binyamin. He then asked if they had a middle name. It would seem that he was also going to be Binyamin No-Name, in Hebrew. They said they hadn’t thought of one. I spoke up, I said “You can use the middle name we had chosen for Leo’s Hebrew name — Nissim, it means Miracles. Leo was going to be Ari Nissim, in Hebrew.” Ari meaning Lion of God and Nissim meaning miracles (or wonders), for he was our Little Lion and our Miracle.

They accepted. They said yes and the ceremony went underway. I’ll spare all the details of being a witness to this ritual, but, I was there during every moment. I didn’t want to leave, so I stayed with him the entire time.

It was now time for the conclusion of the ceremony and for the Naming. Up until this point, I had maintained my composure. I had kept my emotions and tears in check. And then there was a blessing. And then they spoke Benjamin’s Hebrew name – Binyamin Nissim and then I cried. I felt deeply. We yelled MAZEL TOV! Because that’s what you do, because it’s a joyous time and LOTS OF MAZELS! And I feel a little guilty because we were crying and my sister-in-law was getting emotional. My husband was crying next to me and I wanted the room to shout their MAZELs louder. But it was a clear moment that our family was still swinging between grief and joy.

It was hearing the name being said aloud. How we had started to picture our own ceremony with our own son. How our family would witness our family being blessed. And how it was now never to be with Leo.

And now, I believe, a little part of Leo will forever live with Benjamin, if only with his name.

And Ben? I think we’re going to be good buddies.

Happy One-Month of Life, Benjamin. You are a wonderful blessing and a little Miracle. You always will be.

BN_08-2013_2

XO, Aunt Isabel

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Filed Under: Family, Judaism, Leo Tagged: Benjamin, Celebration, Family, Life

Poem: Little Leo

August 24, 20136 Comments

While I’ve been working hard on expressing my innermost feelings through writing this blog, my husband has been diligently sitting quietly with his ears filled with music writing. I thought he was simply keeping a journal, instead, he was writing a poem for our son.

He wanted me to share it with you.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Little Leo

We prayed for strength and courage at the Kotel and Mount Zion,
Leaving notes as maps of hope leading to our little lion.

Monumental was the day we were blessed with this surprise,
Unmistakable the joy and love emblazoned in our eyes.

Along this journey we would stumble but never fall,
Your healthy heartbeat a beacon of hope to all.

I watched your little hand wave hello or maybe it was goodbye,
Eagerly embraced by happiness I would always cry.

Your Mother’s beauty radiates like rays of sunshine,
Playfully peaking around leaves to see this treasure of mine.

Her colossal courage and sacrifices you will never know,
The greatest Mother I could ever want for our Little Leo.

You grew from enduring love and hope to flesh and bone,
My thoughts now tormented by myriads of memories never known.

Perpetually I have cried an ominous river of tears,
Unbridled my anger flows along with my fears.

I feel hopelessly lost in a labyrinth of despair,
Guided only by the pain of knowing that this isn’t fair.

As parents we have so much love to give,
The King in our jungle of memories you will forever live.

Little Leo we will never feel your tranquil touch,
You are eternally etched in our hearts, we love you so much.

XO, Dad

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Filed Under: Judaism, Leo, Loss, Miscarriage, Recurrent Pregnancy Loss Tagged: dad, grief, leo, little lion, love, poem

A blessing

August 17, 2013Leave a Comment

Part of my struggle with this experience is to find where my thoughts end and my faith begins.

I found an article that contained a blessing from Rabbi Goldie Milgram, and it said:

May you be blessed to speak of your experience in the community. The shock and trauma you have experienced, the isolation and grief, may no others feel alone while coping with life. In Psalms we read that even after the devastation of the Babylonian exile, they prayed for ‘those who sow in tears to reap in joy.’ May your harvest come to you, even if it is not the harvest you expected, but still a good and satisfying harvest. May we all move forward into life with compassion for those we see pushing a stroller with a child inside, for we know not the pain that lurks in anyone’s life, or what toll may have been taken en route to their moments of joy. May you long enjoy life in each other’s arms.

Amen.
XO, Isabel

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Filed Under: Faith & Spirituality, Judaism, Loss Tagged: blessing, faith, grief, judaism

Hello. my name is Isabel and this blog is all about my experiences dealing with infertility, recurrent pregnancy loss, and our new adventure as intended parents in our surrogacy journey. Also, a little bit of everything else in my life. Welcome! read more...

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