Bridging the Big Pond: Grieving the loss of my baby niece

Sarai Zemira

I am overwhelmed with grief. I have grieved before in my life on many occasions, but none compare to this. In other moments of grief, when I've lost a grandparent for example, I always tend to reassure myself that no matter how sad the loss and whether it was expected or unexpected, that my elder relative had lived a good, long life, and for that I was thankful and found some peace. Even when my Aunt Lynn died of cancer, we knew it was coming and had time to digest the pending outcome of her fate before it arrived. It was quite sad that she left behind a husband and young son, so it was hard to cope with that, but perhaps because I was still somewhat young and not yet a mother myself, I healed. When my Aunt Suzan died of cancer some years later, I coped with knowing that she had made her peace with it and revelled in the wonderful life that she led, despite it being cut short. It was very sad, but I healed. When John's fellow co-worker died in a tragic plane crash, even while I had not met him, I felt a unique form of grief as I wrote about it in the blog at the time, and we healed.

This loss is so different. This loss is so close, so unexpected, and so so so young. The way that I have coped with the loss of all of my grandparents, including John's grandmother last summer, does not work in this case. Just short of 9-months-old does in no way come close to living a full life. I'm a mother now as well, so the empathetic grief that I feel for my sister is tremendous. Just tremendous. I do fully know that I will heal and will be okay, though. This is likely something my sister may not comprehend right now or for quite some time to come. In her words, "She passed away in my arms. And the moment her heart stopped, mine felt pain that I don't know will ever go away." It is a true physical pain for sure. I feel it too, likely a much milder version than my sister's pain, but a pain that makes it hard to sleep, or want to eat, and as a result function like a normal human being.

My nose is constantly congested, and my eyes are so puffy that I think I may need to lay down with cold cucumber slices on them to help them rest better. Yet, while I grieve in my somewhat normal life at home with my kids and husband, my sister is out picking out the dress for Sarai to wear for the funeral. She is making arrangements that no mother or father should have to ever make for a child. And all of this is so far away. She is in Hawaii, and I am here on the mainland. Because of the distance, I hadn't even been able to meet Sarai yet. That missed opportunity haunts me now. :(

I have watched Sarai grow through pictures and videos and stories. Given she was diagnosed with neonatal Marfan syndrome, I learned a lot about a genetic disorder I had never heard of before. I have seen how loved she was by her siblings and her parents and anyone that met her. I also grieve for each of my nieces and nephews that have lost their baby sister. Learning of death so young and so close is not fair either.

This family loss is the first that I've had to talk with my children about death as a result as well. Emma is too young to comprehend any of it, yet Evan asked all of the questions you'd expect a 4-year-old to ask. Since my kids also did not get to meet Sarai, we were not sure if they'd really know who she was or recognize the loss. Yet, I think it has sunk in with Evan a bit. We asked him if he knew who she was and he indicated that "mommy has shown me pictures of her". He knows that our hearts beat and we have talked before about how that helps us live by pumping blood around our bodies, so we explained in this situation that his baby cousin Sarai had died, and then to answer his question about "what does die mean?" we told him she went to sleep forever and her heart stopped. We talked about how it is normal to feel sad when this happens, as he could see in John and my eyes tears of sadness as we had this discussion. While he said he felt okay, later when I was talking about getting ready for Sarai's funeral, he ran and got into his bed and kind of "shut off" for a bit. I think it causes him some discomfort, if not sadness, as he tries to cope and understand what has happened.

Sarai, in case you didn't know, is the original form of the name Sarah. And while I don't think my sister named her after me, she did honor me by choosing a name of such similarity and of common meaning for her baby girl. She truly was a little princess in our family and based on what my sister has shown me, she will be dressed as such for our final good bye with her. Thinking forward to that moment, which will likely be within a few days time and back on the mainland in our family's long-time home in Kansas, has me at a loss for words right now. I'll write more on this over time, to help myself process and cope, and to share her story and memory with others. I will say that while I am overwhelmed with grief at this time, I am also overwhelmed with the love and support extended to us by so many via social media. This little girl certainly has brought out the very best in people, both near and far.