Surviving the Loss of a Child and Learning to Love Again

I had just turned forty years old. I had been married and divorced while still in my twenties. Fortunately, there were no children from the marriage. But when I reached the age of forty, I began to wonder why, all of a sudden, I had mate
al desires!

I had always been a student of metaphysics and understood that we were on this journey to learn, to deal with challenges in a positive, constructive way, and to work through them the best we could, eventually sharing the positive results with others to help them on their way. Spiritual growth concepts were enormously important to me, and yet, at forty, I felt a lack of something deeply important in my life.

In the mid-eighties I was working at the US Embassy in Islamabad, Pakistan. I joined the Foreign Service eight years earlier and had already been to Turkey, Colombia, Austria, and South Africa, each a two-year assignment. I began to wonder why I was in Pakistan. It seemed, in retrospect, that each overseas assignment I had had, held many lessons. So what was I supposed to learn in Pakistan?

Shortly after my arrival in October 1985, I found out.

In early 1986, I took a trip to see the famous Taj Mahal in Agra, India, with a friend. During the journey, we stopped off in Lahore, Pakistan, to join some friends from the Consulate for lunch. While there, I saw a dark-haired little girl whose eyes seemed to speak to my lonely heart. The child had been adopted by an American working in Pakistan. I knew, after meeting the little girl, that when I returned to my home in Islamabad, I would try to adopt a baby! It felt so right. It was as though I had heard a small voice inside of me, and I silently jumped for joy at the prospect of being a mother.

I knew nothing of the rules or regulations of the country at that time. But when I returned to my home, I immediately had a dream. Dream interpretation had always been an important part of my life. I had been recording my dreams for many years, and had learned how to interpret them, although sometimes it wasn’t easy.

In this dream, I was having a welcoming party for a little baby boy I had just given birth to. I was so happy. In the dream, it was clear that this soul knew all about the trials and tribulations of my life. I saw such compassion on his face. When I woke up in the morning, I was elated! I knew in my heart and soul that a little baby boy was going to find his way to me.

I spoke with Ashi, who was the protocol assistant at the embassy. She said that she knew the head of a Christian hospital near Islamabad and agreed to talk to him on my behalf.

Ashi and I went to the hospital in June. The director announced that, indeed, there was an unwanted child being born in a few months. I was elated beyond words!

In US embassies around the world, there is always a large turnover of personnel during the summer months. Very often people sell things that they no longer need. I bought everything I could for a baby boy and before long had a nursery set up. My friends thought I was crazy!

In early October, I had to go to New York for my niece’s wedding. I left a folder with information about the baby with colleagues in my office. The wedding was October fourth. I was spending a few days with my sister in Staten Island. At midnight on October fifth, the phone rang. It was my office in Islamabad. When I picked up the phone these were the first words I heard, “Hi, Mommy.” It was no joke my office was playing. They had picked up a little baby boy that day at the Christian Mission Hospital in Taxila.

I screeched with happiness and joy! A boy! I had a son. So many emotions filled my heart and soul. I could hardly believe it. I had no qualms about being a single parent (little did I know!).
I shopped for two days buying baby gifts, flew to London, changed planes, and continued on directly to Islamabad to meet my new son. I told everyone, everywhere –at JFK, at Heathrow Airport, “I’m going home to my newbo
son.”

Alexander the Great had conquered Taxila in 327 BC, so I thought it appropriate to call my new son Alex! It’s also a popular Pakistani name. Four days after his birth, I met my five-and-a-half-pound angel, and it was love at first sight. Alex had a huge amount of black hair. His skin was the color of olives and it was like silk to the touch. He was absolutely gorgeous with very dark and expressive eyes.
We spent two wonderful years in Pakistan and were transferred next to Santiago, Chile.

Alex had trouble adapting to our new home at first, but before long he was waving to strangers on the street and saying “hola” to everyone. He was pure joy. Alex was two years and four months old when we arrived in the land of the Mapuche Indians and the beautiful Andes Mountains.

Alex and I settled into a pleasant routine of living in Santiago. He attended the Montessori School, and I loved my job at the embassy. He transformed my lonely life. He was so intelligent and bright, even funny! I counted my blessings daily that he had come into my life and that the universe had allowed it to happen. I looked forward to spending each evening with him and to watching him grow. I hired a wonderful nanny named Carmen and we had a good life together.

Only four and half months after arriving in Chile, I was suddenly faced with a life-changing crisis. I was forced to dig deep inside myself to find resources of strength I didn’t know I had. Alex passed away one June morning when the world should have been filled with sunlight and ice cream, laughter, and a trip to the zoo or the park near our home.

There are no words to describe the loss of a child. I was devastated beyond words. I thought of all the years of studying metaphysics and the Edgar Cayce material, which had taught me that life is ete
al and that we are all here on a journey to learn and grow spiritually. I would surely need inner strength now, as never before.

The official cause of death was that little Alex, only two years and eight months old, had choked on his own saliva while sleeping.

The Ambassador at the US Embassy insisted on having a memorial for Alex that weekend, before I flew off to New York with the casket. He asked me if I wanted to speak at the memorial, where other people would talk about Alex. His Montessori School teacher was one; friends who had adopted children were also going to speak. I told the Ambassador that there was no way I could stand up in front of a crowd and talk at this particular time. I knew that my raw emotions would surface, and that I wouldn’t be able to speak.

At the memorial, I wore a Shalwar Kameez, a Pakistani outfit, in honor of Alex. My head was down. Suddenly I felt that I should lift up my head. As I looked around, I saw silent, sad faces from the embassy, all in black. You could hear a pin drop.

As I was sitting and listening to Alex’s teacher, I had a sudden urge to speak. I went to the podium and started to talk about how happy I was that Alex had been part of my life. I actually used the word “happy.” I explained that Alex had bridged many religions. He was born to Christian parents in Pakistan, a ninety-eight-percent Muslim country, and he was adopted by a Jewish woman who believed in an all-loving divine spirit and reinca
ation. Muslim children cannot be adopted; they are given to relatives. Because Alex was born Christian, I was able to take him out of the country. That was a miracle.

Something happened to me at the podium. I felt elated! I did not shed a tear during the service. I felt protected and watched over. I felt an inner peace and strength, for at least those moments when I was at the memorial. I was given a very special gift from above. When I got home from the memorial, I looked out my window as I was packing to go back to the US and saw a double rainbow.

It was a good omen. Only a few months later, I met and married my prince.