findingphilblog

This is such a hard post to write. The title of the post is a warning; so, if these types of things are hard for you, read no farther.

For so many years, I’ve wondered what happened to the child my great-grandmother had just before she died. I’d hoped that somehow the child survived and there was a branch of our family just waiting to be discovered.

Now I know that was never to be the case. A few days ago, Pennsylvania released an enormous collection of death records, from 1906-1963. What I wrote away for all those years ago is now available right on my Ancestry page.

The baby, never named, was stillborn on Dec. 28, 1916. It was a girl. For some reason, I had always pictured the child as a boy. In fact, in my book, the child is a boy because I felt so strongly that she would have another son. Further proof, I guess, that your strongest assumptions can be total errors.

My heart cracks in half. I am writing this with my daughter’s monitor perched by my side, watching her sleeping peacefully. Mommy is hugging her extra hard tonight. I don’t care if I wake her up.

There is such a potent rush of emotions that occur when you give birth. I know the joy of seeing that little face held up for the first time, hearing her cry and know that the two of you — mother and child — have just come through the danger (no matter how modern the medicine or healthy you are) together.

The form does not indicate on the form the reason for the stillbirth, so we don’t know if the baby was premature, had some type of birth injury or was born in circumstances that prenatal care, fetal heart monitoring, C-sections and other basic medical interventions mostly prevent these days.

I also know why there was no body with Saverina at Mount Carmel. The child was buried in Calvary Cemetery. I will be calling them in the next few days to see what information they might have. It’s possible this is a potter’s field burial, with no stone and very little information.

This information again shifts my extremely conflicted feelings about Mike and Saverina. For all I feel they did wrong (not keeping the siblings together), it’s possible that the lens of grief led to decisions that perhaps were not fully thought through. I can’t blame them for that. I also can’t forget that while these types of things were more common in this era — spousal death at a young age and death in childhood or childbirth — they were no less tragic. Grief is different for everyone and no one way is right.

My great-grandmother suffered so much in the two short years between Francesco’s death and her own. The death certificate for the baby notes her maiden name as Saverina Venezia, and I wonder if she never did get over losing him. Because her death occurred in such a short period of time, she also never got the redemption that sometimes comes with years and understanding. I am hoping, at least, that the faith she had was her final comfort.