Tuesday, September 15, 2009


I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm really struggling with our imminent departure from the Boston area. We've found a place in New Jersey that we like quite a bit and are looking forward to rounding out its rough edges (read a wood-paneled kitchen!), and we're all but packed and ready to go. But there's a very powerful part of me that is crying out for us to stay put...and I don't know what to make of it.

I think it's because, no matter how I slice it, my baby is still here. He was born here. He died here. And while we will always have the gift of being able to take him with us wherever we go, we are leaving a piece of him behind. And that's very painful to consider.

Not to mention that we've faced some difficult issues with our housing situation, put it all together, and it's a right mess of quicksand and questions.

It's really causing me to doubt my ability to make good decisions. Money's going to be tight. I'm walking back into a situation I haven't found myself in in years...a teacher with no classroom, until December anyway. And I don't really know who I am anymore.

What do you make of being a childless mother? A teacher with no students? Both of these slices of who I am have always been such a source of comfort and peace--even before Rafa was born I was everyone's mother, and I've been teaching long before I had the degree.

But this shiftlessness feels different, more defeating.

Maybe I just have to wait to feel some kind of normal again, the kind I learned how to feel when we lived our life in the hospital, or even the normal that followed immediately after Rafa's death.

Right now, we've landed ourselves back in the waiting place.

Keep praying for us. Life is still hard, even after the flowers and cards have all dried up. It means the world to us to know you're out there.


  1. Transitions suck. You've been through so much in the last year; you're entitled to feel ungrounded and shaken. That's OK. Be easy on yourself - you will get to know the new you, which will emerge despite and because of all the experiences you've had. Go through it all in the fog you're in - you can do it superficially. Give yourself time - lots of time. I have a book a friend gave me to help me deal with the losses I've had, and I'm going to send a copy to you. Mostly it lets you know it's OK to grieve and fumble and stumble and think and evolve into the person you will be as a result of all you've dealt with in life. Still following you'all and Rafa, Eleanore in Philly

  2. I am so sorry for your loss. I hate CDH! I lost my daughter, Sylvia, to it on 2/26/09. My heart is still broken and will be forever. I just found your blog through Ashley Standifer's blog for Baby Maxton. I plan on following your journey. I wish you peace.
    God speed!
    Care Page name: babysylvia

  3. I do not know you, yet my heart aches for you. Your words are so beautiful! And your Rafa is so special! I pray for peace and healing. I wish there was more I could do.
    Mom to Dakota 12-25-2008 RCDH

  4. ((Hugs)) Thinking of you. I too lost my son in December.

  5. I can't even imagine all you're going through. I know it must be beyond tough. And I know it's going to take some time before you feel some "normalcy" again. I pray for you and Juan Carlos and Sherrie everyday.

    Know that we share your pain. It's hard to imagine life without my beloved nephew. When I walk down the street and see baby boys, I see Rafa. Sometimes I smile, sometimes my eyes fill with tears. But I know in my heart that wherever he is, he knows that we love him and remember him everyday.

    Just know that we are here to support you in any way we can. Much love.