Fallen Bird by Natasha de Sousa
When I was 8 years old, I found a baby bird on the ground; it had fallen from its nest. I remember carefully holding him in my little hands. He was small and helpless. I wanted to do everything I could to help him survive. I didn’t want his mother to get back to her nest and not see him there. How distraught she would be! My mother suggested feeding the bird, so I tore little pieces of bread, soaked them in milk and I slowly fed this little bird. I then placed him back where I had found him and checked back periodically. I was afraid that a predator would get to him before his mother did. The baby bird eventually died. I just stood there by that tree with tears in my eyes asking myself “was this my fault? Did he die because of me?”. I did not know it then, but I would be asking myself these same questions years later.
The second time I asked myself these questions was twenty-five years later. This time, it was with my own baby. As I held my son Leonardo in my arms, my heart was bursting with love; so much love that it hurt. He was perfect, beautiful. He was mine. Leo was born at 23 weeks of gestation and weighed just over 1 lb. In that moment, as I held him and watched his little tummy rise and fall with his labored breathing, I had already been informed that nothing could be done to save him; his lungs were not developed enough. Just like that little bird, he was small and helpless, and I felt, once again, powerless and inadequate.
We held Leonardo and savored every minute of his short life; sixty-two minutes to be precise. He was gone because my body couldn’t keep him in. He was gone because of me. Although everyone, including doctors, have said that it wasn't my fault, I still blame myself. My body failed - I failed. I was Leo’s first home and my only job was to keep him safe. Was this my fault? Did he die because of me?
Leonardo was born on October 22, 2013 and died on the same day. It’s been over 10 years and like everything in life, my grief has evolved. The pain of loss is still there and in a way, I never want it to go away. To me, this pain is a testament to my love for Leo. My grief has changed with time - it’s not as intense, nor as frequent or unpredictable as it was in the early years. I’m also way more comfortable with it. I am more at ease when I get teared up while talking to people about Leonardo - I don’t apologize for the tears anymore. I also understand that I sometimes need a good cry and I allow myself that moment to cry, to look at pictures, to wonder what Leonardo would have been like. Would he have been into music, painting, cars, monkey bars? Some days, pondering these questions makes me sad and other days, it makes me smile. It’s complicated but that’s ok. I now know that grief doesn't always make sense. I also know that the most important thing I can do is to be gentle and kind to myself.
Just like that mama bird, I’ll never be able to see my baby leave the nest and fly on his own. When my son died, so did all the dreams I had of what our family would be. I couldn’t imagine that my life would one day be filled with laughter, joy, and love again; but it is. Of course, there are also challenges, tears, and pain. All these can coexist in one heart. My heart is filled with love, grief, joy and hope. May you also find love, joy and hope in your grieving heart.
Natasha de Sousa is currently the Board Chair for RTZ HOPE and a stay-at-home parent. Since her son’s passing, she has been actively involved in the pregnancy and infant loss community by volunteering for various non-profit organizations. Originally born in Brazil to Indian parents, she grew up in Canada and currently lives in Seattle with her husband and 3 living kids.
