TRIGGER WARNING: INFANT LOSS
I would be lying if I said that certain Christmas songs didn’t bring me to tears. I’ve curated a playlist on Spotify of classic holiday songs that remind me of my childhood, a playlist on heavy rotation for the last 6 weeks. There is something so comfortably nostalgic about Dean Martin singing “Silver Bells” I immediately time travel to the late 1950s and 1960s of my grandmothers era. She was a ceramic artist and made hand painted ceramic Christmas bell tree ornaments that my Dad would sell door to door around the neighborhood for a quarter each. Every year they were a hit.
For many, the holiday season is tough, dealing with difficult family, missing departed loved ones, or wishing for family to share holiday cheer with. Rightfully so Yule, Christmas and Winter Solstice have always been a time of year to enjoy the company of others, keeping the traditions of our ancestors going.
In many European pagan traditions Winter Solstice at its most basic, is the feast celebration of the sun, personified as a god or goddess reborn to illuminate the Earth and the promise of Springtime and Imbolc (modern day Groundhog Day) is drawing nearer..This is the longest night and shortest day of the year observed as marking midwinter in some cultures or the beginning of winter in others. This was an immensely important astronomical event for communities dependent upon growing their own food. The survival of our ancestors during this time largely depended upon rationing their stored food from the previous 9 months of harvested crops, remaining animals were slaughtered to lessen the mouths to feed and fermented spirits were ready to drink. Despite this, survival was not guaranteed and during the winter months from January to April starvation was common. Thus, Winter Solstice became a celestial inspired celebratory midwinter feast time, in the event no one would survive the winter. Winter Solstice festivities also held psychological benefits as relief from seasonal depression and malaise..
With every turning of the wheel of the year, I always feel the veil between worlds thin because of the auspicious significance of the sabbats, some thin the veil more than others. I’ve witness the behavior of my cat and my son change during a sabbat, they both behave just a little more “wildly”..
Prior to my fathers death, it never occurred to me much that our ancestors could easily be walking between worlds and very close to us during this dark winter time. Ive very much have been feeling the presence of my ancestors in the weeks leading up to today. Christmas was my fathers favorite time of year. I know he very much wants to be able to experience Christmas again through me, which is what inspired this whole journey in the first place, his desire to experience life again as I am a living doorway to him in the spirit realm. Yesterday we spent the day at Golden Gate cemetery honoring the life of my Aunt and Uncle, my father’s siblings who died in infancy in 1954 and 1956. We also honored the life and visited with my Great Grandfather George and his wife Marie.
Last time I visited the cemetery I must’ve been around nine years old with my Dad to visit his siblings. I was so afraid to walk on the hollowed grounds being such a sensitive kid that I didn’t actually get out of the car. I can’t say that I didn’t feel a huge weight of anxiety when I walked around yesterday but I absolutely faced one of my fears of walking in the cemetery. For some reason the grass “smelled like death” to me and at one point I felt someone behind me who for sure wasn’t a relative, I think they were curious what we were doing or drawn to the baby. When I sat with my infant Aunt and Uncle whom are buried together I felt a tremendous weight of sadness ripple through time and space from my Father, for that moment I stood in the same place he has stood many times before, this time he was looking at the gravestone through my eyes instead of his. The tragic loss of their existence and what could’ve been, both of them would be old enough to have families of their own by now, it was a huge weight to feel. It felt important to bring my son there and to visit them regularly from now on since both of their parents and their older brother have joined them across the veil. Now that I am both a Mother and birth professional, I want to understand more about their cause of death from a clinical perspective and what their gestational age was when they passed away. I know I can maturely handle this now more than I ever could at any other time in my life no matter how heartbreaking the details could be. It feels urgently important to find out so I can quite literally energetically doula bereavement support for my Grandmother and Father through the veil.
Until recently infant loss certainly wasn’t an acceptable topic of discussion, my grandmother was no exception, she never spoke about it with family and any stories about them died with my Father. In my research I discovered the horrific history of infant loss in the 1950s. Although stillbirth was a common occurrence in the 1950s, when a baby was born sleeping they were immediately whisked away believing that it was psychologically better for the mother to never see her infant thinking it would be too emotionally stressful to allow her to view and hold her stillborn baby for the first and last time. Fetal ultrasounds were not widely used until the early 1970s and 1980s so unexpected birth outcomes were truly that. Men were also not allowed in the delivery room, not only was the mother immediately separated from her infant, she was also alone. The thought of the many women who silently carry this grief and were forced to carry on as if it never happened is an astronomically heartbreaking thought. How different would the world be now if infant death wasn't so hush hush and grief support was widely available. I would venture to say that postpartum depression for these women spanned decades after giving birth well into their crone years. The impact of the mother wound created from these traumatic births (during the baby boom women gave birth under heavy sedation and delivered by forceps) and unexpected birth outcomes has rippled down into subsequent generations, changing how modern mothers feel supported, experience pregnancy and birth and even parent their children.
Common Christian belief of the time dictated that babies born deceased did not go to either Christian heaven or hell that they went to a place called limbo and therefore we’re not actually allowed to receive proper burials, instead they were often buried in unmarked graves or the remains were simply discarded by the hospital. Because my Grandfather had served in the military, he was allotted space in the Golden Gate cemetery which is allocated for military and their family. The fact that these two babies were given an honorable resting place and most likely a funeral feels extremely sacred considering many others did not receive the same care.
When I woke up yesterday morning I felt a wave of excitement I believe from my Great Grandfather, an ancestor I’ve never connected with before, he knew we were coming to visit his grave, my first time ever meeting him. He died in 1973, ten years before I was born. My Dad deeply loved both of his grandfathers, and like many things he asks me regularly to do this was important for me to visit their graves so that we can experience them together. I am motivated now more than ever to research my ancestry so I’ve upgraded my ancestry.com membership to be able to have access to international records as I have ancestors that emigrated from Greece Ireland Australia England Russia and Mexico as recent as four generations ago.
Researching your ancestry is the easiest way to directly communicate with your ancestors, there is potent magic in that connection and knowing. It will give you a real idea of where to take your magical practice, how to honor the dead, what cultural practices and traditions are available to you, and how to heal trauma and racism in your bloodline.
It breaks my heart seeing that my Greek paternal great grandfather “prayed” on his petition to the naturalization board to change his last name from Apostolopoulos to shorter and “easier” Apostolos. A common practice for emigrants coming through Ellis Island, name changes by choice or force. I remember this being a big topic of discussion with my Grandmother, that her maiden last name wasn’t her REAL last name. I remember feeling as a child, her sorrow that she truly didn’t know who she was. Her mother was struck and killed by a cable car if front of their home, she was 41 and my grandmother was only 20. For many years after she longed to be able to know her maternal heritage, she suspected Russian heritage but couldn’t confirm that during her lifetime. Now I can confidently confirm with documented proof that her grandparents were in fact born in Russia, this accessible knowledge is a priceless gift.
Confusing racial identity doesn’t stop there. My maternal Mexican American ancestors have deep seated trauma woven into our family history, Indigenous peoples forced to assimilate and convert to Christianity through the missions in Southern Texas to falsely stating their race on the census documents, even birth certificates were marked with “W” for white. Closer to 1900 some were marked more accurately, between 1940 to 1950 those same family members changed their answers, the progression of change was an interesting observation. My grandfather Juan Reyes Cadena was in fact not white at all, as he had marked, he has no European ancestry (so far) that I have found. My own mother was bullied in school because she couldn’t speak English like all the other children, so she stopped speaking Spanish and never taught me or my sister. so it feels important to dig deeper into unpacking family history within the context of accurate world history, knowing choices made at the time were a matter in some cases for survival. My maternal ancestors have always been very close, long before ancestry work was even on my radar. They have been longing for healing for quite some time, it’s time to do the work.
In closing winter time is traditionally meant to be a time for inward focus, reflection and hibernation. I believe that because of this quieting of the outside world I have been able to more consciously hear the messages for my ancestors. Energy work beyond just giving it to myself has been a challenge in the last two weeks and it’s wildly obvious now that my focus was meant to shift to my bloodline. I wrote this solstice ritual as a way to move around stagnant energy within your energy body. I invite you to try it.
Winter Solstice Ritual
Decorate your altar with a bundle of sprigs of evergreen branches such as pine, cedar, fir, juniper etc... Burn cedar, sagebrush, or sweetgrass to purify your body and space and set your intention to create a sacred space. Light a red, white or green candle and center yourself with a few deep breaths. Call in any ancestors or spirit guides to gentle assist and hold space for you. Next take your evergreen bundle and gentle dry brush and pat your body with the branches beginning at your feet and sweep up toward your heart. Take as much time as you like brushing your aura with the evergreen sprigs, while enjoying deep breaths of the fragrant evergreen sprigs release anything that no longer serves you. Allow the evergreen sprigs to purify, charge and bless your energetic body. Let your intuition tell you when you are done. Spend a few moments reflecting on what light you are going to call in to your life during the remainder of the winter season. When you are finished blow out your candle to close the sacred space and discard the evergreen branches outside away from your home preferably under a tree.