My grandfather, My beloved "Papa".
Back in 1993 I became pregnant for the very first time. I was young, only 21. I was scared but very excited. Although the pregnancy was not planned, I was very happy to discover that I was going to be a mom. My boyfriend at the time (who eventually went on to become my husband two years later) was young also, only 25. He too was nervous and scared but very excited.
Unfortunately, life has a way of taking a sudden, unexpected turn. Approximately eleven weeks into the pregnancy I began spotting. It was Christmas Day and I was with my family at my uncle's house, celebrating the holiday with all of our loved ones.
Although I was young, everyone in my family was very happy for my boyfriend and I, and were looking forward to the expected new arrival into our family. My grandma, my beloved "Nana" was very excited also. It would be her fourth great-grandchild.
While at my uncle's home, I used the washroom and it was then that I noticed a smallish amount of brown coloured spotting. I immediately panicked. I had no cramping, but I knew that spotting could be a bad thing.
After leaving the washroom I immediately pulled my mom aside and told her. My uncle (who I've been very close to my entire life) overheard my conversation with my mom. Like my mom, he was very concerned. I didn't really want my Nana to know, I didn't want her to worry. But of course, given the looks on our faces, she immediately asked what was wrong. We told her. My mom, my uncle and my Nana urged me to head to the nearest Emergency room. I felt they were right and did just that.
The doctor at the hospital informed me that they could have done an ultrasound but given the fact that it was the holidays, their ultrasound clinic was closed and wouldn't re-open until the day after Boxing Day. He then attempted to tell me, as nicely as he could that the spotting could be nothing, or it could in fact be indicating the very early beginning of an impending miscarriage. All I could do was wait and see. My OB/GYN was on holidays until after New Year's and I had no way of contacting her. He encouraged me to not worry too much about it, and to give my OB/GYN's office a call after the holidays when she was back in her office.
The spotting continued off and on for days, and early in the morning on December 31st, at around 5 a.m I awoke with immense abdominal pain. It felt like the start of a really bad period. I headed into the washroom and sat down and immediately heard what sounded like urine running out of me. However, it wasn't urine, it was bright red blood. I was still living at home and screamed for my mom. She awoke and came in told me that I was losing the baby and needed to get to the hospital right away.
I headed to the Emergency Department at the hospital. The doctor examined me, and sure enough I was miscarrying. He was a very, very kind doctor. I was devastated. I was so upset and angry. I kept thinking, "Why me?"
The next few weeks were a blur. I was grieving and was not sure how to grieve. I had not seen my baby or held it, but I was grieving so badly for the baby I lost. Part of me felt like it would have helped me have closure if there had been a burial or something, but it was as if the baby never even existed. One minute I was pregnant, and then the next moment the baby was gone. I felt like my baby had been ripped from me. I was heartbroken.
Because my family had been so excited about the impending arrival of a new baby, they had begun to buy things for the baby and given us a few items. Looking at the items made me more sad and angry. I didn't want to put them away just yet because then it would be as if the baby had never even existed.
It really angered me when well meaning people told me, "Well, it was just not meant to be." I felt like screaming at them, "Fuck you! Who are you to tell me what is and isn't meant to be?"
I could feel myself spiralling out of control but could not help it. I was so hurt and so angry. It felt like all I ever did was cry and the hurt just would not heal. I did receive some solace from talking with my Nana, for she understood what I was going through. Her and my grandfather had lost a child shortly after he was born.
He was born with spina bifida, which is a developmental congenital disorder, caused by the incomplete closing of the spinal column. Some of the vertebrae overlying the spinal cord are not fully formed and remain unfused and open. If the opening is large enough, this allows a portion of the spinal cord to protrude through the opening in the bones.
Due to vast improvements in medical technology and care, pregnant women and their unborn baby are now checked for spina bifida through a routine ultrasound during pregnancy. If spina bifida is diagnosed, the doctor and medical team can prepare for the infants delivery and prevent any complications from occurring, such as infection and further damage to the spinal cord.
Spina bifida when diagnosed today is not as dire nor is it the deadly diagnosis it once was. However, it still can cause varying severity with difficulty with walking, including at times partial and/or complete paralysis. But most children born with spina bifida go on to live relatively normal, very fulfilling lives.
Back when my grandma had her baby however, spina bifida was a dire diagnosis. Ultrasounds were unheard of then, so the spina bifida was not detected until after the birth of her baby. My grandma said he was a beautiful baby. He was completely perfect, except for a tiny little opening at the base of his spine.
My grandparents were told that if he did not develop infection and did survive which was very slim, he would face a lifetime of being confined to a wheelchair. The doctors also told my grandparents that in all likelihood he would require around the clock care.
A few weeks after being born, my grandparents baby developed a severe infection in his brain and spinal column and died. Due to the infection his brain swelled.
While I did not get to birth my baby or hold it, my grandma definitely understood my grief. While she was a tremendous source of support, I felt like the hurt I was carrying and the heartache were more than I could bear.
**I need to mention here that the infant my grandparents lost was never forgotten. While growing up, my grandma always talked about him. His name was Wayne, and she would always mention him, especially on holidays and on his birthday. Around the time of his birthday she'd mention how old he would have been. Other times she'd mention that if he was still alive, she wondered what kind of life he would have had, if he'd have been able to be independent etc. She also mentioned frequently that she wondered what he would have looked like had he lived. She believed he would have looked just like my dad since my dad, who was born two years after him, looked exactly like him when born. My grandma always mentioned how handsome she thought my dad was and often said that if Wayne had lived, she believed he would have been handsome just like my dad.
According to my grandparents however, they never knew where their baby was buried. Apparently, the owner of the funeral home was a friend of the family. My grandma's mom (my great-grandma) used to babysit for their family. She was their nanny. Their old home was still standing and was attached to, and part of the family run funeral home they operated.
My grandmother was devastated at the idea of her baby being buried all alone. Her sentiment was that she 'could not bear the thought of him being all alone in the dark, cold ground.' The owner of the funeral home apparently approached my grandfather and told him that they could bury Wayne in the arms of a young woman that had recently passed. However, they were doing this without the consent or knowledge of the young woman's family. So, they would not be able to let my grandparents know where he would be buried. The thought of her baby being buried in the arms of a young woman brought some comfort to my grandma and she was okay with not ever knowing where he was going to be buried.
Quite often while I was growing up, my grandma was often saying how it was probably for the best that she never knew where her baby had been buried because she would have never moved on. She said she probably would have dwelled on it and been at the cemetery all of the time.**
Anyway, I was still unable to deal with all the hurt I was feeling from my miscarriage. And of course, I couldn't help but wonder how my grandma dealt with losing her baby. I wondered how she coped with bringing her baby into this world, holding it and then having to say good-bye? How did she get through it?
I felt that I had been robbed, I didn't even get to hold or see my baby. I didn't even know if it was a boy or a girl. I was so overwhelmed with grief, and I really felt all alone. I felt as though God had abandoned me and I was really angry with God. I felt that if God truly existed or loved me, he would not have put me through such a painful loss. Why did He allow it? If God loved me, he would have allowed my pregnancy to continue and not taken my baby from me.
One night, several weeks after the miscarriage, I was laying in bed and crying yet again over the loss of my pregnancy. I felt so emotionally drained. I closed my eyes. All of a sudden I felt the bed move. It felt like someone nudged it from the foot of the bed. I just ignored it. A few minutes passed and I felt the nudge again. I opened my eyes, and there sitting on the foot of my bed smiling at me was my grandpa, my beloved Nana's husband, my "Papa". I was so shocked, yet so unbelievably happy to see him that I began to cry.
He had passed away six years earlier. Just as I loved my grandma, I also loved my grandpa very much. They were both wonderful grandparents and a big part of all of my wonderful childhood memories. My grandpa was a tremendous positive influence in my family and his loss was immense to everyone. His death left a tremendous void with all of us.
He looked so incredibly healthy, and much younger than I remembered him. He was not wearing his glasses and the brightness of his blues eyes was so beautiful and so intense. My grandpa had beautiful blue eyes, but I don't remember them being so unbelievably bright. I did notice however that he looked kind of sad. There was a sadness in his eyes.
He spoke then and told me that he was very sorry for my loss and looked as though he was going to cry. He then told me that I needed to understand that things really do happen for a reason. He explained that while I did not understand just yet, that in time I would, and that things would be much clearer.
He told me that while things don't always go as we hope or plan, God really does have a purpose and a reason for all that occurs. He told me that we all experience hardships as well as the good times for a tremendous higher purpose. He told me to trust and believe in that. He also told me that I was never alone, ever. He looked even more sad at the fact that I had believed that I was alone through the entire thing.
I began to think about what he and my grandma had gone through when they lost their baby. I then heard my grandpa's voice in my head and realized that I did not need to speak for him to know what I was thinking or going to say. He then simply smiled at me and I could hear what it was he was saying even though he wasn't moving his mouth and actually speaking. He looked sad again and told me that my grandma, my beloved Nana was not as healthy as we all believed.
And my entire family did believe my grandma was perfectly healthy. She was in her 80s but looked like someone in their 60s. She was also very active and always on the go. I remember just a few years prior, her and I were heading to the bus stop to catch a bus and the bus was coming. Rather than wait for the next bus, my grandma turned to me and said, "C'mon, hurry or we'll miss the bus", and she began to run.
I began to run close behind. I couldn't believe it, my grandma was running so fast. We made it to the bus stop on time, and when we got on the bus I was huffing and puffing from running and yet you couldn't even tell my grandma had been running so fast. She wasn't even all that short of breath. Meanwhile, I was huffing and puffing and beginning to break into a sweat, and I was only 20 or 21 and in great physical health. But my grandma was obviously in better shape than I was. Her and I had a really good laugh over it.
But according to my grandpa, she was not that healthy. I was then shown the number 5. It did not make sense to me at all. My grandpa stressed that I remember the information given, that it would make sense in time.
My grandpa then told me that the baby he and my grandma had lost, was not really buried with anyone. He was all alone. He told me that he did not have a tombstone, nothing to even mark that he ever existed. He seemed very sad about it. He then told me that I would know the right place because he was buried by the fence. I then saw in my mind a number. I could not make out if it was a 1 or a 7 he was showing me. It looked like it was either 183 or 783, but I couldn't tell. He continued to stress that Wayne had never been buried with anyone. There had been no funeral either.
I started thinking about the story of Wayne being buried with a woman. Immediately my grandfather interjected and said that he was in fact not buried with anyone. He was all alone. He kept stressing that he was buried alone.
My grandfather told me that there would be much for all of us to look forward to in the coming year, that I would go on to have another baby. He also gave me some information regarding some of my family members.
I had a million things I wanted to say to him and to ask him, but he stood up and smiled at me. I could feel the immense love he felt for me and it was overwhelming. I began to cry. He then told me not to be sad, that he was always very much with me. He then told me that he had to go. I cried even harder, I did not want him to leave. I sat up and while smiling at me he simply began to fade and then disappeared.
I found myself simply sitting up staring at the foot of my bed where he had been standing and the room was now empty. I noticed that it was now early morning.
I could not believe what had just occurred. Everything he had just told me was still swimming around in my head.
I then jumped out of bed and ran downstairs. My mom was awake and I immediately began telling her what I had just experienced. I was so in shock that I was talking really, really fast. My mom kept telling me to slow down.
When I was finally able to talk coherently, she just looked at me and said, "Weird". I asked her, "So, what do you think?" She told me I should call my dad at work and tell him about it, so I did just that. My dad didn't know what to say. He suggested I call around to some cemeteries and find out if I could get any information about where Wayne was buried.
So, I got off the phone with him and did just that. But, after two cemeteries telling me they had no one buried by that name, and no one on file with the birth and/or death dates I gave them, I expected the third cemetery to tell me the same thing.
I almost dropped the phone when the woman on the phone asked me to hold after I gave her all the information, and she came back to the phone and said, "Yes. Yes we have someone buried here by that name." She then verified his date of birth and the date of his death.
I then asked her if he had a tombstone, she replied, "No, there's no tombstone, only a plot marker."
I asked her what a plot marker was and she told me that it is a cement stone, and it basically looks like a brick and is about the same size. She told me that the plot number assigned to the grave is engraved on it, and it is placed on top of the burial site in the ground. She then said, "It is basically how we keep track of who is buried where." I asked her what his plot number was and she said, "It is 183."
I was speechless. I dropped the phone. My mom looked at me and said, "What, what is it?" I picked the phone back up and heard the woman on the other end saying, "Hello? Hello?" I picked up the phone and said, "Sorry about that".
I then asked her if he was buried with anyone and she said, "Um no, we don't bury people together unless it's siblings and is requested by the family." I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
I began to tell her all about the story we had been led to believe about how Wayne had been buried with a young woman. The woman sounded almost as if she was choking back tears and said, "That is a beautiful story. It sounds like your grandfather loved your grandmother very much and made that story up to help her with her loss and grieving."
She then said, "If you like, you can come out to the cemetery and we can give you a map to show you where he's buried, so you can find his exact location". I told her that would be great and that I'd be out later in the day. She told me what time they were open until, and I told her I'd see her later.
My boyfriend and I headed out to the cemetery later that afternoon. We entered the office at the cemetery and saw a very nice young lady sitting behind the desk. She looked up and smiled and said hi. I told her why I was there and she immediately said, "Oh yes, hello. I spoke with you over the phone earlier. I have some documents here you might be interested to see."
She pulled out a large black book and proceeded to show me all of the information and documents pertaining to Wayne's burial. I saw my grandpa's signature on some of the pages and asked about them. She explained that he was signing to give consent about the pick up of the body from the hospital, and the burial.
I asked her if there had been a funeral or anything. She flipped through some pages reading them and then told me that according to the notes, Wayne's body had been picked up from the hospital, brought to the funeral home and then buried a few days later. My grandfather was present at the time of the burial. He was the only one there, along with the grave diggers. That made me so sad. My grandfather was a very loving and caring man. Picturing him all alone as his infant son was laid to rest was so heartbreaking to me. I started to cry.
The lady behind the desk looked like she was going to cry also. She then handed me a pamphlet and showed me where in the cemetery to find his grave. I thanked her over and over again for all of her help. Of course she smiled and told me it was her pleasure.
My boyfriend and I left the office and headed over to the place in the cemetery where we thought was the correct spot. It was difficult to know for sure since all of the ground was still very much covered in ice and snow. While wandering around and reading many of the tombstones, I suddenly felt drawn. My boyfriend had wandered a way off in another direction.
I can not explain it, nor can I find the right words to begin to describe it, but I knew that my grandfather was there with me. I could sense him so strongly. I did not see him, but I knew without a doubt that he was with me. I could sense that I was heading in the right direction and proceeded to walk. All of a sudden I felt the urge to stop. I looked down and of course could not see anything but ice and snow. I was standing near a fence just as my grandfather said I would. I instinctively knew that this was the spot.
Just then my boyfriend approached and I asked him to get something out of the car that I could use to tie to the fence. I told him that I planned to come back in the spring when the snow was gone and I could see the ground, and I wanted to mark where I'd been so I could verify if I was in fact in the right place.
My boyfriend came back from the vehicle with some string. I tied it very tightly to the fence. I then proceeded to walk back to the car. My boyfriend began telling me that I was not in the right spot, according to the map.
I told him that I did not care what the map said, I knew that was the right place. I told him that I could sense my grandfather guiding me. My boyfriend then showed me the map. He said, "Look, he's buried in Section A, this isn't even Section A. There's no sign around to say where you are." I told him that I did not care what he was thinking or believed or even what the map said. I told him that I knew I was in the right spot.
We got into the car and proceeded to drive out of the cemetery. As we drove we both noticed a sign sticking up out of the ground near the road in the cemetery that said 'Section A'. So, we had been in the right section after all, just as I had assumed. My boyfriend laughed and said, "Wow."
Almost two months later my boyfriend and I headed back to the cemetery. Since we had verified that I had in fact been in Section A, now we needed to check the plot marker, if we could even find it.
I walked towards where I'd been previously just almost two month prior. I approached the spot and saw my string still tied to the fence. I began looking down on the ground. I then noticed what looked like a cement block, similar to a brick on the ground.
Grass was overgrown on it and it was covered in a lot of mud and leaves and grass. I bent down and wiped it off. On the block I saw the number 183 engraved on it. I stood up and immediately was flooded with immense sadness.
I pictured my grandpa standing there as his baby boy was layed to rest. How heartbreaking that must have been, to have taken care of all the burial arrangements all on his own, and to have created such a caring story so that his wife would find some solace in her infant son being buried. I thought about how many times my grandpa must have visited this grave site all by himself. I cried and cried. My boyfriend just stood there beside me, completely quiet.
All of a sudden I had that strange feeling again like my grandfather was there with me. I immediately felt a calmness come over me. As I stood there looking around at all of the other graves, I noticed many small tombstones and plaques. I began walking around, reading many of the tombstones. They were all tombstones of children and babies. I began to realize that while I was devastated in losing my baby before it was even born, some of these parents lost their child at the age of 2 or 3, many of them only months old.
I then realized that while my loss was painful, I could not imagine having my baby, holding my baby in my arms, loving that small precious child with every single ounce of my being, and then having to lose that child to death. I came to realize that a loss like that would have been tremendous, far more heartbreaking than I could even begin to imagine.
Just then, I swear to God I caught the slight smell in the wind of my grandfathers cologne. There was no one in the cemetery where my boyfriend and I were. I suddenly thought back to what my grandpa had said to me, that, "One day it will all make sense. One day it will all be clear", and I suddenly realized, God did not abandon me.
Perhaps the soul of my unborn baby was to experience being a miscarriage. Perhaps I was to experience having a miscarriage. I suddenly felt very strongly that there had been a purpose, and while I may not know the purpose or even understand it, it was how it was to be. I realized that while I can not control what happens in my life, I can control my response to it.
My dad and my uncle and I discussed whether or not to tell my grandma about my experience, and whether or not to tell her where her baby was buried. We decided that if her husband, who loved her dearly and knew her best, felt it best she not know, that we should not be the ones to tell her. So we never told her. I also did not tell her about my being visited by my grandpa. All of my dad's siblings had been informed of my experience, but none of them told her about it either. They too felt it best she not know.
As my grandfather predicted, I did go on to have a baby, a beautiful baby girl. She came approximately eleven months after my 'vision' of seeing and speaking with my grandfather. She was born on January 25th, 1995.
As predicted, it turned out that my grandma was not as healthy as we all believed. I never forgot about the number 5, and it all made sense to me once she passed away.
5 months after my visit from my grandpa, my grandma ended up in the hospital with unstable angina. She was in and out of the hospital for months after that, and weeks before my daughter was due to be born, my grandma suffered another angina attack and was admitted into the hospital with unstable angina again.
Her angina never did get under control, she continued having many angina attacks and eventually passed away from heart failure. I am grateful that I was able to take my daughter to see my grandma the day that my daughter and I came home from the hospital.
My grandma passed away on February 9th, 1995, 15 days after her 4th great-grandchild was born, and six days before the birth of her 5th great-grandchild.
Coincidence, all those fives? Perhaps, but I don't believe so.
My dad and uncle had been made guardians of my grandma's estate. After her passing, my dad talked to his siblings and told them that he believed that their parents would have wanted a tombstone placed on Wayne's grave. So, my dad and his siblings decided to use what little money my grandma had left and purchased a tombstone for Wayne's grave.
When my grandpa died, my grandma had him cremated and kept his ashes in a beautiful marble urn on his dresser with a really nice 8 x 10 photo of him. She had said that when she died she wanted to be cremated also and be buried with my grandpa.
So, after my grandma's passing, in the Springtime, we layed both of my Nana & Papa's ashes to rest. A very kind priest who was like family, and who had baptized my daughter, attended the interment, and said a little prayer at the time we committed their ashes to the ground.
After interring my grandparents ashes, we all headed to Wayne's burial place, only a short distance away, in the very same cemetery. The priest performed a proper Catholic burial ceremony for my grandparents baby who, although he was baptized Catholic while in hospital, never had a funeral. All of my dad's siblings agreed that my grandpa, as well as my grandma would have wanted him to have had a proper Catholic funeral.
While standing around Wayne's grave, with all of my aunts and uncles (Wayne's siblings), and all of my cousins. I felt very much at peace. My beautiful baby girl was there and I felt such an overwhelming amount of gratitude. I was so grateful to have her. I felt like all was just as it should be. I not only felt at peace for little Wayne, but for my grandpa also, who had taken an enormous secret with him right to his grave.
Wayne's plot marker looked exactly like this one, but was number 183.
This one is located near Wayne's grave.
Eagerly anticipating the arrival of my baby. She would arrive exactly one month after this photo was taken.
Just home from the hospital hours earlier after giving birth two days prior, yet thankful to have gotten my newborn baby girl to the hospital, so that her great-grandma could meet her.
My Nana as I remember her.
Together again.
The tombstone my family placed on Wayne's grave, 50 years after his death. I'm sure my grandparents would be very happy that their little boy finally has a tombstone, something to show that he was here and he was loved and is missed.
Copyright © 2013 A Haunted Life
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