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A Mother's Tears

On October 10th, 1975, an angel came into my life: my firstborn son, Christian,. I shed tears of joy and then, may years later, life as I knew it-- BC (Before Christian) was never to be the same. On November 19th, 2009, 3 weeks after his 34th birthday at exactly 11:46 a.m., I came face to face with another angel: the Angel of Death. At that very moment I became another statistical number for the CDC and an unwilling member of a community with the highest membership dues on earth: the community of parents who have lost a child.

Life after his death-- AC: After Christian, was the inception of a world filled with an endless flow of tears, hopelessness, helplessness, loneliness, , emotional turmoil. depression. anxiety, grief attacks and enormous sadness. I have plunged into a deep, dark well where I continually analyze why I was singled out for this, the cruelest of fates while realizing that from that moment on, I would never be the same. I think about him every day for most of the day. I obsess, scrutinize, reflect and examine some of my basic beliefs and assumptions. The continuous wondering of "why", "why me", leaves me exhausted--both emotionally and physically. It is not true that time heals. It only allows one to painfully reconcile the ugly reality of the loss. It continues to be the worst kind of pain

We live in a society of concealment, denying the suffering, avoiding the subject which merely serves to enhance this very complicated grief. I began to realize that a great deal of my pain arose from the realization that more than anything else, is how my son's life and death have defined me more than anything else. But, conversely, what does one say when a child dies? When a young man leaves us far too soon? The hole in my heart created by the loss of so many future days without him cannot be filled with the past days I enjoyed with him. There are no words that can comfort me.

In the agonizing and horrific 18 days at the ICU where he desperately strove to survive while "coding" four times, I didn't recognize myself. I was too calm and very much in control even at the most difficult time in our family's lives when his father and I made the decision to desist from maintaining him mechanically alive. Science terms this demeanor when the "fight or flight" hormone is released in overabundance. His departure to the universe took less than 30 minutes. We--his parents-- held him while we awaited in peace and in sorrow for his embarkation into this journey towards the moment when his soul exited his body.

There is a special grace in holding a child when he/she enters the world and also when he leaves it. I held his body for 4 hours in an futile attempt to keep him warm as I sang his favorite songs, stroke his hair and talked to him. It was a priceless moment and a memory I relish. Then the moment came when I was told that "THEY" had arrived to take him. " No! I screamed. you can't take him. He's my boy! How can 4 complete strangers take him away from me and place him in a bag and remove him from my life???!!! How could they "get away" with doing this?! What if he suffocates in that horrible black bag?? Who is going to take care of him and how will "they" treat him??"
I was, of course, not wanting to believe the horrific reality that I would never see him again. That he had indeed died. It couldn't be! It was a surreal moment, then days, then weeks...and it still seems that way.

Ironically, it was Christian himself who had unwittingly directed me to what to do in his own death. Two months prior to him dying, we shared a lengthy exchange about the death of a close friend of mine.

As a physician, scientist and philosopher and In an effort to convince me that death was simply another stage of life, he shared how impacting Elisabeth Kubler-Ross' book, "On Death and Dying" had been to him and offered to mail it to me. He did. The book was deemed "A Profound Lesson for the living", by, coincidentally, Life magazine. He also quoted William Hazlitt's view on mortality: :Perhaps the best cure for death is to reflect that life has a beginning as well as an end. There was a time when we were not; this should give us no concern--why then should it trouble us that a time will come when we shall cease to be? He also mentioned that he considered it "barbaric" of western medicine to maintain someone mechanically alive for the sake of the survivors. That conversation and book equipped me with the knowledge I would later have to resort to when having to make the most haunting and staggering decision a parent would take, the removal of his life support equipment. It would've been what he wanted. He had as much told me so. I viewed it as my ultimate act of my love for him.

Christian had been anxiously awaiting for this particular birthday celebration. His 35th year of life would fall on a special date: 10/10/10. And while I continue to grapple with shock, despair and heartbreak, I hope to celebrate his life on his birthday and forever as well.

When reflecting on the legacy he left, the impact he made on so many individuals and the pride and joy he generated to his family, his community, his school and friends. And knowing the privilege of being his mother and having him 34 years, I am reminded of what I would often state about him: that I aspired to be half the person my son was.

Fortunately, there is no deadline on this goal. In the meantime, he will always live in my heart and I shall cherish the memories of an exceptionally dedicated, caring and loving son. I recognize that I have to go on in spite of my heartbreak. I will go on as changed person: a stronger person because I continue to survive the ultimate test and pain any human being can face--and strong because I now have a loving angel that will see me through my darkest and most despairing times.

I love you, Christian. I miss you desperately. And no, it doesn't get better. I have merely learned to live in pain.