About:
I was raised in the Central Valley and moved to Santa Cruz in 1990 after graduating from Fresno State with a degree in Theatre Arts. I married a few years later, we bought a home together and I had my first child in 1994. Like some young couples though, my first husband and I couldn’t quite find our way through the difficult times and we ended up divorcing. I spent my first son’s early years trying to juggle the demands of being a single mother and a homeowner. I was grateful to find work in the mortgage and title industry at that time as it enabled me to support my son on my own for many years. It still wasn’t easy, but I managed with the help of friends and family. They were, and always have been, a godsend.
NOTE: The next part is not an easy read, since I share my own tragic story of loss. If you are currently grieving a loss of your own, you may want to forego this part.
Several years passed, and in 2006 I married my second husband. We decided to try for a baby, and were thrilled when I became pregnant in early 2007. Our son was due on Thanksgiving day of that year, but the due date came and went, and nothing happened. Finally a week later we checked into the hospital for an induced delivery. I labored for hours and hours but could not move him out of the birth canal. The doctor and nurse were by my side looking concerned, but not sharing anything with us. Something was wrong, but I didn’t know what.
Nothing could have prepared me for what came next. The nurse whispered to the doctor that my son’s heart had stopped. The doctor immediately grabbed the suction and pulled him out. He was blue. Our beautiful son, Alexandor, was born clinically dead. (I found out much, much later that his primary heart monitor had been malfunctioning, and, that he had shoulder dystocia. He was essentially lodged in my pelvis and was not going to come out on his own. I needed a C-Section, but, no one had realized that at the time.)
I vividly remember the doctor placing his limp body on my chest for a nano-second, then another team suddenly whisked him away to give him life support. I laid there in a daze, exhausted from the long delivery, and we waited anxiously for news.
They finally came in and told us that they had managed to restart his heart, and that they were waiting for a team of specialists who were being flown in via helicopter to try and save him. Again, we waited helplessly, hoping, but I had a sickening feeling that I couldn’t shake.
The team finally arrived and evaluated him, and again, we waited. I was exhausted and hurting deeply, physically, emotionally and mentally, yet my mind was restless. I suddenly remembered a flash of a feeling I had had two months before. As we set up the crib and changing table for the baby, I couldn’t picture him in the house, anywhere. I thought it was strange and brushed it off at the time, but, it turns out this premonition was tragically accurate.
We knew by the looks on their faces when the team finally walked in after evaluating him that he was not going to live. He had suffered irreparable brain damage from the rapid suction and could not survive. They told us they could take him to their hospital and try to keep him alive on life support, but that it wouldn’t change anything. He was going to pass, it was only a matter of time. We made the decision to keep him with us. I laid weakly on the hospital bed, still in shock, while they placed our sweet Alexandor on my chest. My husband crawled into the tiny bed with us and there we stayed. I listened to my son struggling to breathe, as I fought to stay awake. It was almost 5:00 am. My husband and I fell asleep despite our efforts not to, and when we woke up our son was gone, having died in my arms. Our little Angel had only been here for a few hours and had already gone through so much. I sobbed inconsolably. My huge tears fell down from my eyes, rolling across his cherubic face. We had to say goodbye when we had only just said hello.
I probably don’t need to say that my husband and I were in complete shock, as was the rest of our family. Someone called the Priest at our Church, and asked him to come give our son a blessing. I still vividly remember our precious baby laying there, motionless, as Father Joel anointed him with oil, gently drawing a cross on his tiny forehead. After another hour had passed we had to leave the hospital without him, knowing the funeral home was on their way to take him into their care. Leaving without him, the empty car seat in the front, was gut-wrenching. I can’t even describe the emptiness I felt.
The next day we made funeral arrangements. I remember barely being able to walk into the Funeral Home, and I’m so grateful to have had my Father there for his support. (I don’t know what I would have done without him!) A few days later we had a small graveside service for our beautiful baby, and I still remember staring blankly at the little white coffin surrounded by flowers, in a state of total disbelief. It didn’t seem real. The days following that were unbelievably hard.
My family, in an effort to cheer me up, took me to Monterey, and as we walked along the sidewalk families pushing babies in strollers kept walking past us. I burst into tears repeatedly until they finally decided maybe it wasn’t the best idea after all and took me back home. The agony I felt was nearly unbearable. Even though I didn’t want to go out, I hated being alone. I sometimes found myself in a fetal position on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. I wished I was dead. These feelings went on for weeks and weeks. Once the shock wore off the anger kicked in. I wished I had a punching bag. (I probably needed one.) I wanted to scream and sometimes did, yelling repeatedly “Why did you take my baby!!” at no one in particular until I couldn’t scream anymore and would collapse in a heap on the floor. I felt insane with grief. Honestly, dying would have been a welcome relief from a heartbreak so painful I could barely function.
After months of what felt like endless crying, I knew I had a choice to make. I could either wallow in misery the rest of my life blinded by my sadness, or, I could grab the lifeline being offered by so many of those around me and do my best to heal. I won’t sugar-coat the enormity of this task, but suffice it to say that recovering from this painful event was the most difficult thing I have ever encountered. But, I was not alone, and, neither are you.
I knew I had to start somewhere, so I started with exercise (which helped immensely) and a grief support group called HAND (Helping After Neo-Natal Death), along with massage therapy.
I went on from there, learning about Aromatherapy, and other healing modalities. I eventually also tried Reiki, Somatic Therapy, Yoga and Meditation. It took years for me to recover, but, I can tell you that it is possible. It takes a willingness to recognize what you went through, patience with yourself, allowing yourself to cry when you need to, devotion to self-care, working to find the healing modality (or modalities) that work for you, and finally, staying centered, recognizing stress and allowing yourself to rest. I often tell people I work with that you cannot pour from an empty cup. You must take your self-care very seriously, almost as if it were a job, in order to become well. I finally felt healed enough move forward. It took patience and time, but I had done it.
I prayed for direction and a sign as to what I should do next. For weeks I waited. Then, out of the blue, people that I didn’t even know started confiding in me about their loved ones that had died. I felt oddly comfortable listening to them, and was able to empathize drawing from my own experience. It was the message I had been waiting for! I had one of those rare moments of clarity and suddenly knew exactly what I needed to do. I needed to take what I had learned from my experience and help others who had experienced a loss of their own. I knew my life was forever changed, and there was no going back to the way it was before. I had received an outpouring of love that helped heal my wounds, and I fully intended to find a way to give that love back. I was feeling called into Death-Care, so I started to research the industry in my every spare moment. I finally decided that being a Funeral Director was what I wanted to do. I even called my Father, who had been my rock when Alex died, and told him of my career-change plans. He paused for the longest time before finally saying “Well sweetheart, you’ve always been real good at planning parties.” That made me smile, and I moved forward with my plan.
I returned to College in 2011 to learn about Funeral Service, and eventually received my California Funeral Director’s license in 2012 which I still hold today. Since then I’ve worked at both Funeral Homes and Cemeteries, and to this day I continue to do the work so I can help others in their own journey.
I am confident that between my own experience with loss and my experience in the industry that I can help you and your family too.
I can be reached at 209.741.0914, and would be honored to assist you.
