I have had my heart broken before, but not with the same intensity in which it broke yesterday.
I had lost a romantic relationship. It hurt a lot. I was twenty two and thought that it was the worst thing ever. I drank wine for a week, and then I was back on track because I refused to ruin my life for someone who never deserved even a glance from me. Looking back, I believed it was more of the pain of humiliation that made it hurt. I am, after all, quiet but proud.
I had lost grandparents, both pairs of them. It was sad and yet peaceful. I never met my mother’s parents. My dad’s parents died in their nineties. They lived full lives.
Yesterday, however, was different. My little brother – who although only three years younger was like a first child to me – lost his little angel. 26 weeker Jordana Belle fought hard. She was in the NICU for more than 60 days. All she knew was the plastic case of an incubator and the pain of being prodded everyday. She had a little taste of her mommy’s breast milk. Her tongue usually slid out as if looking for more, but her feedings were interrupted by caution. After every feeding, her tummy bulged. Her intestines could not take too much feeding yet. Her liver was getting bigger. And everything was falling apart and a part of us knew it even weeks before, but we continued smiling and praying and hoping.
To make things worse, half of the family is in the Philippines: my brother, his wife, and our mom. My dad, my husband, my son, and I are here in Dominica, tens of thousands of miles away. Each one of us grieves. Even my son had to wipe tears furiously at mass, attempting a big boy stance. We grieve silently. Only the closest people know. I am sharing this because those who cared enough to read my past blogs – precious few – deserve to know what happened next.
Please include us in your prayers.