Luca is my love child. Not only because he was conceived out of love and his dad and I were not married yet, not only because he was a nature-loving environmental activist at heart who loved to wear tie-dyed rainbow shirts, say peace a lot, and would be naked all day if I let him, but because he was almost born on Valentine’s day.
I was induced on February 14, 2008 due to high blood pressure, however he decided to make an entrance in the wee hours of February 15, 2008 (which happened to be family day!). I had an induction because I had pre-eclampsia which runs in my family. I gained a lot of weight when I was pregnant with Luca. Not only because he loved to eat (a trend which continued) but I was retaining so much water. I was scared throughout the pregnancy that something was wrong with Luca. The pregnancy was not planned, and I had seen so many horrible things happen in pregnancy working in the field of genetics. I felt I needed to guard my heart. However, I fell hard. Luca captured my heart. And I couldn’t wait to meet him.
My labor and delivery experience with Luca was not what I had envisioned. It was supposed to be beautiful with music playing in the background, no drugs, just a few pushes in the comfy spa tub and I’d hold him on my chest with skin-to-skin contact. After being bound to the bed with tubes coming everywhere out of me, and pleading for the epidural, and being pushed to my side with an oxygen mask held on my face while I was forced to sign all these forms for an emergency c-section because Luca’s heart rate was dropping and we needed to act fast, the adventure began.
After the c-section, Luca was whisked away.
After the c-section, Luca was whisked away. He was born with mild-moderate hypospadias which happens to 1 in every 250 boys. Basically, his urethra (pee hole) was not on the tip of his penis but rather on the mid-top portion of the shaft. So, we knew just after he was born that surgery would be in his future. And of course, he ended up being the 1-5% who would develop a fistula requiring repair four years later. I remember thinking to myself once he was born, if he has to have something, this is a pretty mild and correctable thing to have. So, we dealt with it.
Due to my c-section we stayed for a few days in the hospital. We were in a room with a window that I didn’t even notice until we were leaving the hospital. I wasn’t eating much. I was up all-night holding Luca. My emotions were all over the place. Feeling like, what has just happened here? What did we do? What is my life going to be like now? In reality, I was very happy for this change, but scared too. Luca had lots of visitors, even family that came from out of town to visit him.
Leaving the hospital to bring Luca home felt incredibly odd. I felt like I was stealing him. We had come into the hospital without a baby, and now we were leaving with one. Just like that, no questions asked. I found myself wanting to blurt out to anyone who walked by us on the way to the parking lot “he’s mine, I gave birth to him”. Entering the doors of our home with Luca felt surreal. It was as if I was walking into our apartment for the first time there was a ‘new-ness’ feeling. Soon after we were home, everyone I cared about sent flowers, cards, visited. Some brought me meals and snacks. Some even gave me gifts. I had time off work. My days and nights were reversed. Sleep was a luxury. Sometimes I showered, most of the time I didn’t. I panicked when it was time for Luigi to return back to work. I was scared I would not be able to do this alone. I was a mom now. Luca made me a mom. I was loving my new life. I felt so blessed. I wasn’t even supposed to be able to conceive. When my family doctor diagnosed me with polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS) at 18 years old and he told me ‘if you don’t get pregnant soon, it probably isn’t going to happen for you.’ Luca was made naturally (and unknowingly!) and I was 30 years old. No fertility treatment required. I loved being his mom. I documented when he first smiled, when he first wore jeans, when he first laughed. I took hundreds of photos. I basically documented his life. I especially enjoyed our daily walks.
When Luca completed his second craniectomy surgery following his brain bleed at 10 years of age, we were in a room in the ICU that apparently had a window but I don’t recall ever seeing it until the day we left. I wasn’t eating much, and I was up most of the night holding onto Luca’s hand. I didn’t want to let him go. The nurses were able to secure a bed for me that we pushed right beside Luca’s bed so that I could be as close to him as possible all night. I woke up with very little sleep each morning just to be with him. I didn’t want to waste any time sleeping that could be spent with him. My emotions were all over the place. My heart was broken. It will remain forever broken.
He officially died on May 15th just after Mother’s Day. The day life support was withdrawn. I was in disbelief for a long time that this happened. I saw the reality unfold in front of my eyes, but it took a while for me to really believe the miracle we were all praying for wasn’t going to happen. I was scared and deeply sad. We had lots of visitors, even family that came from out of town to see him. Luca’s friends came to hold his hand in the hospital and prayed for him while whispering messages of peace and love to him. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever witnessed, and the saddest thing, both intense types of emotions experienced at the same time. His teachers came by to see him. Luca had a constant flow of visitors because over his lifetime he had such an impact of so many people.
I felt like I had returned his life to the hospital.
I felt like I had returned his life to the hospital. Like he was only on loan. I had to watch his body leave the hospital on a stretcher with his rainbow blanket covering him that we just purchased over March break in Grand Bend. Grand Bend was our home away from home. That was our last family vacation together. Luca’s head lay on top of a beautiful pillow with star constellations and a galaxy background on it that the nurses gave him. I had requested that Luca was not placed in a body bag at any point. And I found a funeral home that respected this.
The first think I did was take my shoes off at the front door and I bolted upstairs to our bedroom. This is where I had last seen him…I sobbed and sobbed.
When I left the hospital, I did not feel right at all. Driving home felt horrendous, and the pain set in full force. And panic. I did not want to return home without him. It would not be a home anymore. How could we live there without him? I was scared of the pain I would feel being in the house without him, knowing he would never come home and see his room and toys again. When we walked inside that night, our home felt as predicted unrecognizable without him with us. The first thing I did was take my shoes off at the front door and I bolted upstairs to our bedroom. This is where I had last seen him before leaving for a conference the day of his brain bleed. He had slept in our bed (which wasn’t that out of character for him) and when we said our goodbyes he was there, on my husband’s side of the bed. I jumped on the bed where he last lay, I pulled all the blankets around me that he used hoping to absorb his smells and any fingerprints he would have left behind. I sobbed and sobbed.
How did I let him die? Why was he that kid that rare things always happened to? Why did such a beautiful kid full of dreams and goals have to leave this world? I felt betrayed by my faith. I was not feeling blessed. In fact, I felt cursed. Perhaps, I didn’t learn something in this game of life and now I was to be punished. Was it because I worked too much? Was it a lesson to teach me to listen to my inner gut and not seek approval all the time from others? Why did he have to die for me to learn this?
After Luca’s death, people sent card, gifts (including stuffed animals just like he received when he was born), and many came to visit. Some brought food and snacks. I was unable to work so I was off for a while. When Luigi announced he was returning to work, I felt very anxious, scared to be alone with these emotions. Some days I showered, some days I didn’t. Most nights I couldn’t sleep, my days and nights were often reversed. Getting out of bed was a forced behavior. I made sure once a day I went for a walk, and eventually I grew dependant on these daily walks, but even walking in my neighborhood for months on end it all still seemed so surreal. It often felt like I was walking in an area I was not familiar with. I wasn’t connected to my surroundings.
Just like in the beginning when Luca was born, the first six months had been all about adjusting to a new life that is thrusted upon you. In a way, it felt like Luca’s life had come full circle, just not in the way most people use that expression. And I certainly did not welcome or appreciate his death being thrusted upon us.
Just like when he was a newborn and had no real ability to communicate with me in a meaningful verbal way, I still talked to him even though he died. I go into his room in the morning and say ‘Good morning, Luca”. At night, I put on his ‘fishy’ music toy or sometimes turn on his turtle that projects stars on the ceiling as if I were putting him to bed. Sometimes this helps me and other times it crushes me because I feel I am pretending and crazy. I still talk to him on walks like I used to when he was a baby in the stroller “Oh Luca, look, did you see that cool tree?”. I talk to him because I am not sure he isn’t here in spirt. My younger son Matteo once said ‘I am sad for Luca because he’s now invisible and probably feels sad that we don’t even know when he is here’. Sometimes my human mind doubts and on my worst days of depression I feel sad that he’s disappeared, and I’ll never be with him in any real way again. Sometimes I feel Luca, other times I believe he’s here in spirit and that we will be reunited in some type of afterlife because I need to believe he exists in some capacity, other times it’s because I choose to believe in my faith. However, even when I choose to blindly believe faith, I still battle with my human mind doubting and questioning, and longing/aching for him.
Looking at his first photos as a newborn, and his last photos, there are similarities, taken at the same hospital just 10 years and 3 months apart.
THE DEATH OF A FAMILY - Our Journey Through Grief, Healing, and Advocacy 