Text extracted from Jane Xavier’s diary (January 2019) – I AM A MOTHER

I could not sleep well for months after being discharged from the hospital. I used to stay in the living room watching TV or taking cat sleeps until 2 am when I knew I was finally going to sleep. This was my way to skip the hour I used to have with Beatriz before falling asleep. I used to go to bed around 10.30pm to touch my bump while talking to her. She was always moving as though she was answering me, then I would do some relaxation techniques until the sleep arrived.

Photo: Jane a couple of weeks before Beatriz’s birth/passing

Coming home alone after being discharged from the hospital was one of the worst experiences of my life. It took me months to be able to touch and to look at my belly properly, my relationship with my body changed drastically. Any movement of my womb shrinking back would instinctively make me think that she was still there inside of me. Every time Michael’s arm would fall down and touch my belly I would quickly move it back as it would remind me of the time she was there either moving like a feather or kicking while he was touching my bump. There is so much involved when a woman loses her child. I would rather say “loss” than “late miscarriage” as I do not like the word mis-carriage. Women have been blamed enough throughout History to hear that “they mis-carriage” as if they had carried their babies wrong! It took me a few therapy sessions to change this thought. I blamed myself for losing her and I bet that many women go through the same feelings without any support.

Women who lose their babies go through a “silent pain” in which people feel sorry but “not that sorry” because they take it as though they had never seen the baby (or saw it for a short time) there are no stories to be remembered, no moments shared with that little person. While mothers are longing for someone, that in some cases, they have never had, as well as plans and hopes that were taken away from them. Not only, are mothers not supported properly in our society but their pain is usually taken for granted. There is always someone who will say that “she can try again”, that “at least she knows that she can get pregnant” or “it also happened to the lady on the corner “ and she got pregnant again and she is very happy now… Then there are those, who although they have never been through a loss of a child, they think that taking maternity leave is “too much time” (as though loss and grief can be measured!) and then they will find a way to ask you if you are working at some stage of your maternity leave!

I am a mother who did not bring a child home. I am a mother who will feel sad at my daughters birth-day, at her supposed due date, at Christmas, at Children’s Day, at Mother’s Day and at every single occasion that mothers celebrate with their children. As sad as it can be, I feel that I have to educate people about that – we need to talk about it!!! I was entitled to take maternity leave as any other mother who brought her child home and I refuse to vaguely say that I am on “leave” or on “sick leave”, so people will not feel embarrassed when I tell them about my loss. It is not anyone’s fault that there is a lack of terms to describe my situation. However, I have been through a lot – physically and emotionally to follow the social norms and to be worried about not making people feel uncomfortable when they instinctively ask me “how’s the baby doing”… It is sad that there is  no other term, but I will tell you that my baby had passed away. Because this is what happened and I do want to be able to tell you the truth – I am on maternity leave without a child! Life is made of phases and I need some time to go through this painful time, rather than going back to work and pretending that I am ok.

Most of us go through grief and loss throughout on our lives. We all lose loved ones, and I am sorry to be blunt about this but death is the only certainty we have from the moment we come to life! We should learn how to deal with it. I do want to talk about my daughter. Beatriz existed, she came to me, and I had such a wonderful, and brief, time with her. I would just advise you to “test the waters” before asking questions because some mothers might prefer not to talk about it, which is fine, everyone should be able to decide what is good for them.

I have been noticing how unprepared we are as a society to deal with death since my parents passing. I acknowledge that it is a very sensitive topic, but we do not need to say anything about what happened if we feel uncomfortable – but show that you are there for the person! Be open to meet up or giving a hug while letting the person take the lead on the conversation. There are a few people I wish I could have met for a coffee while I am on maternity leave, but they have just disappeared! Some of them have been checking on me though – and I am so glad for that! Many people did not know I was pregnant, so whenever I start a conversation by text message or on social media, I am not going to reply “I’m good” just to be polite, but to say what happened instead. Sadly some people did not engage anymore, I will take as though they do not know what to tell me. It is sad to think that people are not really interested in engaging in a conversation when it is not about good news – life is about bad ones as well. It is even sadder to think that we are not evolved as a society to deal with death and loss and grieving and supporting people affected. I have found some help on writing, talking about my trauma and about Beatriz, and at the Facebook group that I started  called Migrant Women Mothers of Angels. It can be much harder for women who are away from their families to go through a loss and the hospital experience in another country.

My parents always talked about death with us. I remember my sister telling them to stop, whereas I would ask them about what they had to do when they helped our relatives’ families to sort out funerals. I grew up in a Catholic family but I stopped going to the church as a teenager. I have always thought that there might be something – which can be a woman, or an energy, but although I do not know what it is, I have always been curious about death and its theories.

Two of my favourite TV series are: Six Feet Under and Dead Like Me. Six Feet Under explores death and grief as facts – we do not know when or how but it is going to happen. When the time comes, we might be the ones to make the funeral arrangements for a loved one. There is an episode which a mother loses her child and she reflects on the fact that there is a term for a woman who loses her husband, for a husband who loses his wife, for a child who loses their parents but there is no term for a mother who loses her child because it is just too hard.

I have always been quite “lucky”, let’s put it that way, never having been to a funeral in Ireland in twelve years. Until I saw the hospital chaplain knocking at my door just around twelve hours after Beatriz’s passing. She introduced herself; she was so calm and kind while she offered some words of comfort. Then she asked us if we had something in mind. We could not grasp what she was talking about. My mind was a roller coaster – I had flashbacks of Beatriz; I could not stop remembering the two doctors sticking their hands inside of my vagina in an attempt to remove the placenta manually, causing the tear which resulted in stitches and difficulty sitting properly for days. I remembered being inside of the lift, on the hospital bed, with two doctors disagreeing about the type of anaesthetics I was supposed to take… I remembered the last doctor telling me that he had been through my chart and due to the infection being so high, he was going to give me a different type of anaesthetics… Yet, I saw a short film of my life when the mask was placed on my face, until I woke up with the doctor calling my name with tension in her voice, at that time I thought that I was somewhere else other than back here… Suddenly I was brought back to the aftermath of my daughter’s passing having to talk about her funeral.

Michael did not want to talk about it, then I asked her to just describe our options and come back on the following day as I knew I would stay in for at least three days, or until the infection was under control. I have been through burying my dad, then recognising my mum’s body at the mortuary, while my brother was choosing the coffin, and then burying her. Yet, I had never thought that I would have to make arrangements for my daughters funeral. Apart from the physical and emotional pain, there are lots of details and decisions to be made that most people do not think about: cremation or burial?, date, time,  church or some words by the grave?, who do we want to be there?, how am I going to “invite” friends who did not even know that I was pregnant?, do we want many people?, etc. The only thing we knew was that we wanted something brief and ecumenical.

The chaplain’s help was great, her work is essential in a such difficult time. She left a few forms for us to fill in, which were sitting there for 3 days until I was discharged. Michael put them away with a pack of baby wipes with a photo of a lovely baby… We had an attempt to go through them but the thought of writing her name down on those forms was quite a lot to cope. We asked her to fill them in for us because we could not do it.

When I opened the door to leave the hospital after exactly two weeks, I faced a very happy couple coming up the stairs with their newborn. They looked at me then I got back and closed the door. I did not want to feel that way, it was great to see their happiness, but at that moment I could not bear. I must confess that I felt jealous. That was the moment that I had been dreaming for so long, but I was going home with empty hands. I had been watching the car park from the ward I was first admitted. I noticed the parents going home with their babies. I came up with my own theory that there was a pattern – the dads would carry the babies and walk quickly to get into the car, while the mothers would nearly jog to catch them up. I wondered what type of delivery they had and whether they were fine to nearly jog? I had been dreaming about leaving that hospital with Beatriz no matter how long I would have to share the toilets with the whole ward; to bring my belongings for my shower every day; to queue for shower if there was someone in; and to eat the hospital’s food.

At the end, I was carrying the maternity clothes – that I had to wear again for a while until my body went back to normal, and memory box provided by Feileacain, which at that moment did not mean anything to me because I wanted to be holding Beatriz. However, by the end of the month that box brought us a little comfort, as we know we can open it and find her photos every time we wonder if we are forgetting her face, or if we want to see her very first clothes. If my house goes on fire, I want to take that box with me first!

The night before Beatriz’s funeral my sister asked me whether I was prepared for it. She remembered my parents’ funerals, she mentioned how weak I was after having being hospitalised for two weeks, having had the infection and all the antibiotics that I had taken and I was still taking. I told her that this was the minimum I could do for Beatriz. I acknowledged her worries and understood that she was not going to attend it but as sad as it was going to be, I wanted to give Beatriz a good send off.

We preferred something very intimate and brief. We had Michael’s close family and four or five of my friends. Although I had never been to a funeral in Ireland, I have heard that people try not to cry a lot, they would rather have their own moments. I believe people from different cultures have distinct behaviour. I cannot speak for all Brazilians but my family and extended family would cry a lot at funerals. I usually switch off from the World and let my emotions to flow if I feel like it as it is the very last time I am seeing that person.

We cried our eyes out while sending every single message to let people know about the time and place. I kept asking myself why on Earth we had to go through that, was it real? Maybe it was all a nightmare that we were going to wake up soon? Nobody will ever imagine inviting people for your daughter’s funeral. It is against the “life cycle”, it was so surreal!

We wanted an ecumenical service beside the grave, so we had to choose two songs. I remembered a Brazilian band called Tribalistas, that myself and Michael like and we had been to their concert in Lisbon two months earlier. I remember that I was so excited to see them again after seeing them last in Sao Paulo over 15 years ago when they first got together. I was so happy to bring Michael and my sister to see their concert! It was a very mild night in Lisbon, and we walked to the venue as we stayed nearby. It was such a magical moment as Beatriz was moving inside of my bump. I remember telling my sister that she was already a fan. And then we thought about Laura Izibor, as she is a mixed Irish, just as Beatriz was. It was so painful to organise all this. We stopped to cry a few times while we decided the songs.

I did not sleep properly on the night before. When I woke up, I just do not want to believe that I had to choose some clothes to go to my daughter’s funeral. I went to the toilet, looked at the mirror and I started remembering my dad and mum’s funerals. I never thought that I had to bury my child. I looked sick, and old, and my dreams of having a child were shattered. I had come from wanting to have a child but hearing that I had left to think about it until it was too late;  then we were led to believe that I could not conceive naturally; we tried to move on, I went back to therapy as I had just lost my mum, and then when we decided that we would adopt in future – I conceived naturally!!! Our hopes were brought back and I stopped believing in Irish doctors. Now, I was going to bury my child. Was this all a joke? Everything was aching – the stitches on my vagina, my belly, my head, my legs, my breasts, the bleeding was quite heavy…and my mental health was gone. I just wanted to lay down on my bed and cry for a month without seeing anyone, but it was probably not a feasible choice.

Michael’s parents collected us, and we went to Glasnevin Cemetery. I could not speak in the car. I had the flashbacks again and I did not want to believe that it was happening to us. Once we got there Michael and I went for a walk. I am always feeling cold but, on that day, I did not mind that grey and cold morning of December. Shops were still closed; we went to walk near the graves until we saw some of our friends arriving. The chaplain drove to the grave and asked who was going to carry the coffin. I could not say a word. Then I saw Michael holding a small white coffin with Beatriz’ name engraved. He placed the coffin into the grave while I held a starfish soft toy that Michael had won on shooting at an amusement park in Stuttgart a few years ago, when we said that we were going to keep for our child. I was holding the starfish so hard that I could feel the fur soaking then Michael held me and we sobbed together. I cannot remember what the chaplain said as opening, I just remember when Michael put the songs on his mobile phone and we hugged again and cried as if nobody was there and the world had stopped.

Before we left I felt like reading a passage of the Little Prince, as I was reading it in Spanish at that time, and to say a few words. I told her that she was my little warrior. She proved doctors wrong when she came to us, she stayed inside of me for days with very little fluid and yet, she was born alive to come to us and to say “Hi and goodbye”. It was so hard to let her go but thank you for teaching us about unconditional love.

Photo: My amazing sister’s embroidery artwork!

“In one of the stars I shall be living. In one of them I shall be laughing.

And so it will be as if all the stars were laughing when you look at the sky at night”. (Antoine Saint-Exupery)

That night I had dream about nursing Beatriz and my mum was helping me. It was so clear, and it looked so real! Then I woke up with the cabbage leaves* wet. I thought that using them since I had been discharged would stop it from happening, but I had to go through this extra physical and emotional weight.

*Cabbage leaves are used to stop the milk from coming out