DiGennaro Family

Welcome to the world, Clement Evangel Habakkuk Haddad! We are so glad you’re here!!

It has been such an honor to be present with Deb ad Peter as their baby journeyed from the “depths of the earth” to their arms. It’s hard to come home to dirty dishes and bustle after the profoundly spiritual experience of attending to birth. (Somehow much more enjoyably spiritual as the observer.) As I traveled home yesterday, I wasn’t tempted to turn on the radio or call friends on my cell phone–a few hours of silence, and appreciative awareness of the trees, clouds, and sunset seemed like the best ways to let my insides savor the experience. And now to share a few photos with you all…

Deb’s water broke at 9:30 Tuesday evening. “Great!” I said. “Now we all go to bed.” Nothing doing, there were friends to be called, a hopsital bag to pack (which I thought had been long done), and then–to my dismay–she tore into the dishes. She rested for about a half hour before deciding it was time to go, so we got to the hospital around 12:30. She was well effaced, but only like 1 cm dialated. So we labored all night long, and then all morning. But checks revealed that she wasn’t dialating past three cms. Around noon they started her on pitocyn. “Where’s a bridge? I want to jump off” was her wry response.

That helped the contractions come better, and she really perked up, so we all felt real good about how things were going. She asked me to get her scrabble game out of the car, so she and I played for awhile–while she was in active labor, mind you–and to her credit I might add that she wasn’t loosing.

Around three the check indicated that we were still at three cms. That was very discouraging, and it became harder to deal with increasingly strong contractions. No movement, no movemen, head still in station -3…. she had been very brave, a real horse, but by five she started disintegrating from discouragement and pain. An epidural at 5:30, and she was able to rest, but still no movement. So finally she and Pete agreed to a C-section. They dressed Pete up all nice, and wheeled them out.

I waited with another couple in the room for about an hour. When was our new Little going to make his grand appearance? Then out he came, blue and stark naked, and Peter pushed the cart into the nursery. We got to watch as the nurse cleaned out Clement’s mouth, weighed and measured him (8.75 lbs, 21 inches long, 14 inch head). He went from gray to white to human. The head was FULL of black, black hair. Peter burrowed his face further into his smock to hide the emotion, so deep, so raw. Exhausted, but here was his son, very much alive, and very obviously HIS. Daddy didn’t even have to share Clement with Mama, he got Baby all to himself, and he held on to that baby as though the world depended on it.

So heaven broke through the clouds into our dimension once again on February 22. It blessed me to be able to be there, and I hope this account hasn’t bored you, but has made you feel as if you were there too. It’s hard to dispair about death, winter, unanswered prayers when holding a new born baby.

Deb’s email is deborahjoline@hotmail.com if you want to email them.

Last night, once again, I used the mortar and pestle from Puerto Rico that had always been on Grandma Rachel’s shelf. I ground up spices and garlic to make Indian curry. Using it makes me feel connected to Aunt Angie and Puertorican breezes. It also connects me to Grandma; but it makes me sad, too, because I do not think that I ever remembered to thank her for it. I got it in the mail just a month or so before she died. Then I start thinking of the myriad of things that are unsaid, unshared, and that will always stay that way, and sometimes tears drip into the pilon, salting the garlic. So here is my question: If you could, what would you say to Rachel, what would you ask, what subjects would you discuss?

Here she is in the Amish bonnett Grannie Annie made for Priska, and the fleece jacket from Auntie Libby & Uncle Dick in California.

I had a dream the other night, an in my dream I got word that Rachel and Vida had died. In the haze between waking and sleeping, I was greatly relieved to “realize” that it had only been a dream. “So they are both just sitting in their easy chairs after all,” I thought, and was greatly relieved.

The world seems more frightening without them there to listen, give direction, and pray. Who is going to digest my questions about the “far out” stuff like Vida was so comfortable doing? I know she didn’t have all the answers, but she also wasn’t afraid of the questions. I am sad that my daughter will never know her.

Somehow I feel more at peace with Rachel’s passing. The experience of saying good bye in person at Thanksgiving, the phone calls after that, the gradual fading. Especially the opportunity to lovingly cover her up as she rests in the soil–all were very healing and helped provide closure.

With Vida, it came, whapped me over the head, and was gone so fast. It’s harder to let go of her peacefully, graciously. I can’t delete her last email from my inbox. Maybe if I leave it there long enough, something will change. I wonder what would happen if I responded to it. She closed with, “Rest assured of my love and support. I hope it won’t be toooo long til I get to see you again.”

Well it is too long. “I love you, and you’re going away and I don’t like it.” Who do the teachers, the mothers, the guides have to go before we are ready to make it without them?

It appears that there is a widely felt need to speak and listen to others speak about Rachel, her life, her vibrancy, her death, and Vida as well. But words are hard to find for topics such as these.

Let’s talk. Maybe we could start with something like this….

If Rachel had a favorite flower, what would it be and why?

Friends,

If you’re looking for the pictures of Priska I emailed about, there are some just below here, and some more under “previous posts” entitled “Priska!” which turned out better.

–Debbi

Hey, did you hear? An Egyptian ferry went down in the Red Sea with 1300 people on it. I think they all drowned while Miriam and her tamborine sang on the other side. VERY sad, but isn’t it ironic? Maybe they were going after the Israelites….

[Ed.]Although the destruction of the Egyptian Army during the Exodus was cause for rejoicing, this current tragedy has a totally different meaning. During the Exodus, it was an example of God’s power and protection–so singular an event was this deliverance from the slavery of Egypt that for a millennia it was THE event that was referenced whenever speaking of God’s character and might. In one of the post-exile prophets, it is predicted that this event will be eclipsed by God’s gathering of His people back from the nations to which they were scattered–in a metaphorically way, we Christians, are a part of this return from captivity (including the Coptic Christians among the chiliad that died in this accident).
Although we can learn something about God from everything that happens, this tragedy should be viewed through a different filter than the salvation that the Israelites experienced at this same Sea when Moses told them,”the Egyptians whom you have seen today, you will never see them again forever.” We also see this deliverance, not when a warship sinks–much less a ferry–but when our sins are thrown into the depths of the sea.[/Ed]

This is how we go out when it’s cold.

This is her Lion outfit.

Priska and Uncle Simeon go flying. Note her tongue–this is her latest element of curiosity.

As I was scrubbing the floor today, although of course it didn;t really need it, I was struck by the way that the songs we sing while doing these daily tasks can become a window into our hearts. What does the song say? What does it mean to me? Why is it stuck in my mind? Sometimes the best way to get a line un-stuck is to pay attention to it.

The other day I found that I had a country song stuck in my head, the one line that says “He saidk, ‘I saw the carseat–I love kids; Does she have your eyes?” Other than being the high point of the song musically, it is also the point where the hard working single mom finds love and acceptance for herself AND for her 5 year old daughter. I realized the song was in my head as an invitation to appreciate and accept my experience as a mom, my daughter, and the unconditional appreciation we get from Aram every day.

So that was nice. Who needs to go see a counselor if you could listened to country music?

Enough for now….

Debbi