Articles on Grief and Healing Articles on Grief and Healing
The Present -- An excerpted chapter from Searching for Estrella Maili, rebuilding my life after the death of my daughter... By Gisela Lujan
It has been three and a half years since that dreadful day that left a permanent scar in my soul. I look back, and I acknowledge the fact that I have walked a long path since Mariana died. Many people have told me that I am strong; they cannot understand why I have not collapsed, or become insane. I think: “You have not seen me at my worst moments”, but I know I have fought fiercely not only to survive, but also to continue living. The truth is that I did not have many options. What could I do but fight? Of course, I could have chosen to sink in desperation and sadness, become bitter, and will myself to die. But I have another child that deserves to live and to be happy. I can’t imagine people who don’t have anyone to live for!
I believe that in time, the acute pain and the deep sadness will
lessen in their intensity, but they will always be with me.
Pain follows me around like my own shadow. I have learned
to live with it. Perhaps, I have learned to become more
tolerant of its blows.
I didn’t see Mariana falling from the balcony. However,
images fill my mind and many nights, in my sleep, I see her
falling. Sometimes she looks at me, smiles and says:
“look mom, I can fly.”
Memories of Mariana are a mixture of pain and tenderness.
It took me a long time before I could recall memories of our life
together. Some days Mariana’s memories are like
thunder and they strike me with all their might, leaving me
without any strength, engulfed in a very deep sadness.
Other days, I can smile when I think of a funny story about her
life. It is still a very weak smile, though. My
laughter does not come from my stomach, like it used to.
Sometimes, small events can awaken my pain with an intensity
similar to the one I felt when Mariana died: a picture I
had not seen before, or one that has been sitting on my
nightstand table, suddenly becomes a reminder of Mariana’s
death; running into one of her friends, listening to her favorite
rock group. I do not fight the pain. I let it embrace
me, because only when I acknowledge it can I accept the fact that
I am alive.
It has not been easy to continue being a family. It took us
a long time to sit and have dinner together again. Looking
at Mariana’s empty chair was too painful for us. It
wasn’t easy going on vacation to the same places the four of
us used to go to before. Any activity we do is incomplete.
How can we live wholeheartedly if our hearts are broken? No
matter what we do, Mariana will never be back. She is gone
forever. One question still remains: How would it be if
Mariana were still here? I avoid family
celebrations. When all family members are together,
Mariana’s absence is unbearable. Seeing her cousins
grow up happy, becoming young adults, is like a knife ripping my
heart.
One of the things I’ve learned is to be more understanding
and sensitive to other people’s pain. If I see someone
who treats me roughly, I immediately think that maybe that person
is suffering, like me, the loss of a loved one. I know
there are people who have gone through more devastating
experiences than mine. Mi suffering is small, compared to
this immense universe of pain.
Little by little I have reconciled and reconnected with life
again. I have learned to laugh again, to work, to relate to some
people and I have stopped relating to others. They
represent the difference between now and then… and it hurts.
I have learned to protect myself from situations or people that
hurt me and diminish my energy. Slowly, I have built a new
life, adding new elements in it, trying new activities to find
out which ones I feel comfortable doing. It is a process of trial
and error. All I need is discipline, not motivation.
This search sent me back to college, to schools. I needed
to know if I still have what it takes to relate to children as a
teacher and counselor. I did not find it. Maybe in
five years, or in ten… maybe never again. I like to
help others, but it does not have to be in a classroom or in a
therapeutic context. I am searching for a mission in my
life. Something I feel is worth to get up in the morning
for. I know this mission has to be related to
Mariana. She guides me in my search. I need to learn
to quiet my mind so I can listen to her voice whispering to
me. It’s only a matter of time. I am patient. I
know how to wait.
The most important thing for me, has been finding new ways of
honoring and keeping Mariana’s memory alive. Since I
can not give her anything else in this life, I try to find simple
rituals that can help her in her new life and that give me
comfort. I light candles on the 3rd of each month, on her
birthday, and on any other day when I need to do it, or I feel
Mariana wants it. For me, the light of the candle is
Mariana’s spirit, and I believe that wherever she is, she
sees the light of the candle, and does not feel alone. Carlos and
Mauricio planted roses in our garden to enhance her
portraits. We have created a Web page, so the entire world
can meet Mariana.
I try to do activities I know she would like to do. Mariana
dreamed of the snow and we often would talk about how it feels to
play in the snow, to practice winter sports, to have snowflakes
gently falling on our faces. When we moved to Colorado, I
decided to learn how to ski. The first time I dared to ski,
I cried because Mariana was not there with me, skiing on the
cotton-like slopes… but at the same time, I smiled, because
I knew Mariana’s spirit was with me, enjoying the snow.
My relationship with Mariana is no longer a physical one. It is spiritual. I believe and I feel that the more I grow spiritually, the closer I will be to Mariana. I like to think that Mariana and I are growing and developing, each one in her own realm, each one in her unique way, and that our relationship has changed, reaching a deeper and different perspective.
I take a break from writing. The sun is out again. I
go out to the garden and smell the roses. It is such a
beautiful day! I decide to swing on the hammock, play some
music and read. Nowadays, I feel satisfaction doing these
things. Mariana is always with me. I feel her
presence in every one of these simple acts in my life.
I see Mariana in the watercolor strokes of a beautiful sunset, in
the deep dark brown eyes of a small girl, in the gusty wind that
swings the top of the trees. We communicate without
words. Invisible and unbreakable strings bind us.
I open the book and read Tagore’s poem:
The End
It is time for me to go, mother; I am going.
When in the paling darkness of the lonely dawn you stretch out
your arms for your baby in the bed, I shall say, “Baby is
not there!”- Mother, I am going.
I shall become a delicate drought of air and caress you; and I
shall be ripples in the water when you bathe, and kiss you and
kiss you again.
In the gusty night when the rain patters on the leaves you will
hear my whisper in your bed, and my laughter will flash with the
lightning through the open window into your room.
If you lie awake, thinking of your baby till late into the night,
I shall sing to you from the stars, “Sleep, mother,
sleep.”
On the straying moonbeams I shall steal over your bed, and lie
upon your blossom while you sleep.
I shall become a dream, and through the little opening of your
eyelids I shall slip into the depths of your sleep: and when you
wake up and look round startled, like a twinkling firefly I shall
flit out into the darkness.
When, on the great festival of puja, the neighbors’ children
come and play about the house, I shall melt into the music of the
flute and throb in your heart all day.
Dear auntie will come with puja presents and will ask,
“Where is our baby, sister?” Mother, you will tell her
softly, “He is in the pupils of my eyes, he is in my body
and my soul.”
The url for Mariana's site
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The book is available in Amazon.com,
in English
and Spanish. The author, Gisela Lujan was born and raised in Venezuela. She received a BA in Special Education, from the University of Northern Colorado, and an MA in Organizational Management from the University of Phoenix. In Venezuela, she trained as a Gestalt family therapist. Moved to Denver in 1998, and has been involved with bilingual education (as a consultant). She also has a company, called Study Link that offers international student exchange programs. She and her husband are starting the Estrella Maili Foundation, to offer support to Spanish speaking bereaved parents, here in the US and in Latin America. Proceeds from the book will go to the Foundation. |
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| The authors' family...from left to right, son Mauricio, Mariana, the author, and her husband Carlos. |
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