My heart is broken.
There is a family — the Kazas — who live just down the road from us. They are a large Catholic family, with eleven children. I’ve never met them, but some of their children went to school with some of our children. As with many large Catholic families, we travel in the same orbits, even if our paths don’t cross.
This morning, they lost Sebastian, their baby boy. He was only 19 months old.
The details of the story are few: he was hurt in an accident in the home. He suffered cardiac arrest, and his brain was deprived of oxygen for too long. From the beginning, it was known that he would need a miracle to survive.
That miracle never came.
I’ve known about this situation since last week, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to write about it. I can barely stand to do it now. It was too personal. Too touch and go. I can’t read about it without breaking down. Even now, I am writing through tears. It may be cliche to say that once you become a parent, every story about anything bad that happens to any child becomes, in your mind and heart, about your child, but it doesn’t make it any less true. We can all empathize with tragedy, but only once you know what it is to love a little one of your own can the story of another parent’s pain over some tragedy that befalls a child wound you to the core. Only once you know what it is like to fear the loss of your own baby can you begin to fathom the pain of another parent’s loss of theirs. My Liam is less than a year older than Sebastian. He is so precious to me, I simply can’t begin to imagine what I would do without him. I have been holding him more closely. I’ve been paying more attention to the little things he says to me, and his angry toddler fits aren’t bothering me so much – because at least he’s here to have them. I’ve been making sure to show him that I love him. I’ve been laying next to him at night, running my fingers through his corn silk hair so I can see his little, precious face, and simply watching him sleep. I’ve been begging God, “Lord, please don’t ever make me have to bury a child.”
I don’t think I have what it takes to deal with something like this. I know I’m not strong enough. I know I’m not faithful enough. I don’t know how to love God enough to accept His will in something like this. Every time I try to imagine it, I can’t fathom how. The mere idea crushes me.
Sebastian’s parents, however, have shown great strength. Faith. Love. Acceptance. Yesterday on Facebook, after they had been given the news he would not recover, they were photographed with their baby in their arms, and they were smiling. Tired, weary smiles. But there is real joy there too. With the photo was a note from Tabitha, his mother:
We are taking turns holding Sebastian while we can. It felt so incredibly good–some of my happiest moments as a mother–to feel the weight of his warm body, watch his chest rise and fall, feel the thudding of his heart. I would give anything to stay in these moments forever–just like when I held him in my arms for the first time after his beautiful birth. The quilt he is covered with was wrapped around each of our children when they were born, and it is good for him to be wrapped in it as he is born into eternal life. We informed the doctors here that we will leave the possibility of organ donation up to Divine Providence. They are doing all the work necessary to see if he is able to donate and if there are possible recipients. In the meantime, we will hold him and love him and kiss him and support his life the best we can, until we need to take him off the ventilator. If the timing allows donation, that is by the grace and glory of God, and the sacrifice of our little boy, whose life was laid down. I still cannot imagine how I will say that last goodbye, but being able to cradle him in my arms now is such a merciful blessing. He is one of God’s most beautiful creations.
Words fail.
This family is not without grief. The title of this post comes from something else written by Sebastian’s mother, another note that shows that deep note of pain that resonates as a primal need:
I’m sorry I am so dark this morning. This is the usual time Sebastian would wake up and his big brother and godfather Tommy would bring him downstairs and change his diaper and give him breakfast and take him on a walk. I would be nursing the baby in bed and listen to him ordering Tommy around. The loss of his life is so great–how can it be borne? Please pray during these next hours for us to have the prudence, wisdom, and fortitude to choose the right course of tender, loving care we can give. Pray for his siblings. Pray for peace. Thank you.
And it seems that they found peace. This morning, I received a forwarded email, confirming what I had waited for, and dreaded:
My friends,
Thank you, with all my heart, with our whole family’s hearts and souls, for your love, for your Christ-like love. You have all given us so much, you have shown us a glimpse of Love Himself.
Sebastian went from our arms into the arms of his Creator this morning, a little after 5AM. I promise to share all arrangements with you as soon as they are made, and I promise to share more of Sebastian’s story as soon as I am able.
With profound gratitude for all the blessings our loving God has poured out upon us,
Tabitha
My wife, who is so much stronger than I, keeps reminding me: our children belong to God, and it’s up to Him to decide when to call them home. She tells me what a great consolation it is that these little ones go straight to heaven.
I understand her words. I know, intellectually, that they are true. But all I feel is sorrow. All I can process is grief. I never met little Sebastian, never so much as said hello to his parents, but I mourn for them, deeply.
Just a day before this all came to pass, Sebastian’s mother wrote a comment about the way the world views large families. She said:
[T]here is some sort of prudish streak to the contempt large families receive–something of a disgust at procreative sex, something messy and carnal and transcendent and wild. In Brave New World, Aldous Huxley imagined a world where the very idea of sex being linked to procreation is obscenity, and the worst possible curse word is “mother.” We are living his prescience now. When I was the recipient of scorn at Brown University for being pregnant, I couldn’t help but notice that dozens of Brown students got pregnant every year (it’s just that their pregnancies did not end in live birth), and hundreds of Brown students did activities that could have resulted in pregnancy. That was all fine. But be in love, get married, have a child? That suggested unwise abandon, stupidity reserved for animals. Orwellian reversal of the truth in all this.
People do not understand large families. They ask if the children you have with you are all your own. When they find out how many you have (because invariably, one or two are off doing something else) the look of shock on their face is genuine. It’s as though they’re standing face to face with Bigfoot, or a unicorn.
It is perhaps unsurprising, then, that these people also do not understand that a parent’s love does not diminish with each additional child, it multiplies. Love is not some finite resource like diapers or bacon, growing more meager with each additional bottom to cover or mouth to feed. It grows in relationship, in interaction, in the communion of persons that is a family. Ask any couple with a bunch of kids about that strange feeling they sometimes have at the dinner table, amidst the chaos, that someone is missing.
Every child is irreplaceable. Every time you wonder how you could possibly love another one as much as you love the others, they find some way to stretch your heart beyond its limits. Every little life is a treasure of immeasurable price. I have not always lived this truth to the fullest, to my shame. I have worried too much about finances at the news of pregnancy, I have often been too absorbed in my work, or too caught up in my own thoughts and problems, to give my family the time they need. I put them off too much. I don’t show them enough love. Sebastian’s story has come as a sharp reminder that I cannot take for granted something so precious and undeserved. Please, Lord, don’t allow time and distance to cause me to forget.
As you might expect, the family is facing unexpected difficulties and costs related to this horrible tragedy. A fundraising page has been set up to help them. If you are able, please give. Let’s overwhelm them with generosity. Let’s be instruments of Christ’s love and consolation. Nothing can take away their grief, but perhaps, just for a short time, we can help to ease their temporal worries, so that they can be together and remember the life of their beautiful son.
And Sebastian Kaza, please pray for us!
“…even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not…”
From today’s Gospel Reading; the day Sebastian entered his Eternal Home:
The disciples approached Jesus and said,
“Who is the greatest in the Kingdom of heaven?”
He called a child over, placed it in their midst, and said,
“Amen, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children,
you will not enter the Kingdom of heaven.
Whoever becomes humble like this child
is the greatest in the Kingdom of heaven.
And whoever receives one child such as this in my name receives me.
See that you do not despise one of these little ones,
for I say to you that their angels in heaven
always look upon the face of my heavenly Father.
This is not easy for me to say; Tabitha is my cousin. But God’s plan is so perfect. All we need is to trust in it, and the rock-solid Faith and Trust of Tabitha, Babu, and Sebastian’s siblings, will ever be before my eyes as an inspiration and as a reminder of God’s faithfulness.
That is beautiful Daniel! Praying for your family at this time!
Beautifully written.
My youngest is 19 months too. He also had a horrible accident this week where his highchair fell over. He could have had terrible injuries but as I hurriedly checked him over with shaking hands, I could see that he had just had a bruised cheek and the tip of one finger was as swollen as could be.
How hard it must be to loose the baby of the family, on whom so much love is pored out. I am a convert from atheism to Catholocism. I can’t tell you how blessed I am. If I had remained an atheist I would have been closed off to the blessing of many children. Would I have said ‘two is enough for me? or four and NO more!’
But here I am with seven beautiful children and would love even more if God would so bless us. Can I tell you a little secret? If I could go back in time somehow and change things I would marry my husband earlier and have a big big family, 14 maybe! 😉 Well, you know, just dreaming here. Who would have thought an ex-atheist could have such dreams!
With each new child we’ve been blessed to have I have only come to understand more and more how precious children are. When I look into their little newborn faces I can understand, and I hope this doesn’t sound silly, but I think to myself that I understand why God must let time go on and on because the wonder of each new little soul as it comes into being…. you could never get bored with it.
I will keep this family in my prayers!
God bless you and your family Steve!
We were wondering what to do with some extra money this week. Now we know. Hearts breaking for the Kaza family.
God bless you Steve. Everything I’ve been feeling all day about this family’s tremendous loss, you put into words. Everything. Thank you.
I think large families are awesome. We have several friends who have large families. But the most important thing is seeing families whether large or small have two dedicated parents who work together to raise their families. Too often you see moms struggling because the other parent isn’t involved. I realize that there is work and other struggles, but moms shouldn’t have to raise kids by themselves. But unfortunately our culture has destroyed family, it’s values and it’s roles.
Life is truly so very precious. My wife and I lost our newborn 4 months ago after labor went wrong. The pain is indescribable. I do not want to take any attention from the Kaza’s, I just feel a need to appeal to people, echoing the author of this article, that each child is irreplaceable. Many people understandably do not know what to say in the face of such unspeakable tragedy. That’s okay. Just offer your support in whatever way you can, and be a presence for them. Don’t say “at least you have 10 other kids” or “you can always have more.” We humans feel a need to fix the pain in situations like this, and when we realize we cannot, sometimes we walk away because we feel powerless. Just be there for them when they need someone. Let them tell their story – Sebastian’s story. Let them cry with you, vent to you. Help with practicals! Give the couple an opportunity to grieve. Obviously, pray for them. The grief may lessen with time, but it will never go away. Reaching out months after or years after and asking how they are doing is a great comfort, because in times like these, though the light of faith is very bright, the human darkness is very, very dark. While we know that God is always with us, it is still easy to feel very alone.
Thank you, David, for offering this insight and advice. It’s tremendously difficult to know what to do or say, or how to respond. It feels selfish to feel so grateful your little ones are OK when the loss of another’s child is what prompts you to reflect on it.
I’m so very sorry for your loss, which I can only imagine is still very raw. I pray that Our Lord bless you Our Blessed mother console you.
Thank you! I think that feeling of selfishness or guilt is common, but like you said, it can bring us to a greater appreciation for the gifts we have received. I just hope some experience from the inside can empower people to let God’s love and comfort flow through them more easily to those in need.
Praying for you and your family David!
Thank you very much! God bless you!
David, I am praying for you and your family and am sorrowful that you lost a child.
Thank you! God bless.
Catholics often think that their superior relationship with God will protect them from hardships and tragedy. Sure we have our crosses to bear, but God is always looking out for us and will deliver us from evil. When something like this happens we try to make sense of it and put it into the context of our faith. The problem is, it doesn’t work.
We are told that our guardian angels will protect us and (more importantly) our loved ones, but where was Sebastian’s guardian angel? We are told that if we choose God and agree to act in accordance with His will, He will never let us down. But isn’t the loss of an infant child a terrible let down? We’re lying if we say no.
We want to hold on to our faith, but in the face of such a horrible reality we must concede that our faith is insuffecient. We need more faith, more hope, more love from God, because we are brokenhearted. If put to the test, we fail. So we turn to the only one that was ever able to perfectly do God’s will and say, “Lord, if only you had been here, my (baby) would not have died…” (John 11:21)
Now our ‘faith’ is no longer a big long contract with God. It’s not a creed, or a prayer, or any collection of words. It’s not a bunch of stories handed on from age to age about some guy that lived 2000 years ago. In short, it’s no longer an abstraction. It becomes the lived experience of the reality of our vulnrability and complete dependence on God. We can only lay the broken pieces of our hearts at the foot of the cross and wait.
Wait for the one who was crushed for us, to do that thing that only he can do.
‘Catholics often think that their superior relationship with God will protect them from hardships and tragedy.’
No, we don’t. We are the Faith of the Cross and our school is Christ crucified.
‘Sure we have our crosses to bear, but God is always looking out for us and will deliver us from evil. When something like this happens we try to make sense of it and put it into the context of our faith. The problem is, it doesn’t work.’
God is always looking out for us and will deliver us from evil if we trust in Him, by the power of His Precious Blood. He has not failed us, He will never fail us.
When something like this happens faith, which is a gift from God, is the only thing that makes sense. If it does not, then we do not have faith, nor understand it and so must ask our dear Lord for it.
‘We are told that our guardian angels will protect us and (more importantly) our loved ones, but where was Sebastian’s guardian angel?”
Right there with him holding his precious little hand.
‘We are told that if we choose God and agree to act in accordance with His will, He will never let us down.’
Absolutely true, He won’t
‘But isn’t the loss of an infant child a terrible let down? We’re lying if we say no.’
Not a let down, no. Terribly difficult, yes. If you believe in God you may struggle, but with God’s grace you will come to see that you have not been ‘let down’.
‘We want to hold on to our faith, but in the face of such a horrible reality we must concede that our faith is insuffecient.’
No it’s not. At least if we try to do this on our own, then yes, it will be insufficient. We can not give ourselves faith. But faith comes from God whom if you ask it He will provide.
“We need more faith, more hope, more love from God,”
Too true.
“because we are brokenhearted. If put to the test, we fail.”
If we trust in ourselves, yes.
‘ So we turn to the only one that was ever able to perfectly do God’s will and say, “Lord, if only you had been here, my (baby) would not have died…” (John 11:21)’
It seems you need to have a ‘perfect faith’ by your definition and that if achieved no harm will ever come your way? That would be terribly burdensome. But Christ said to his disciples, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” Matthew 16:24
And he also said “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30 And here is a mystery but it is not unfathomable. Not with Christ as our guide.
‘Now our ‘faith’ is no longer a big long contract with God.’
I don’t know about you but I consider myself part of God’s family. If it is a contract it is a contract of love which I am happy to be a part of.
‘It’s not a creed, or a prayer, or any collection of words.’
Prayers mean something. They are, or should be, loving conversation with Christ.
‘It’s not a bunch of stories handed on from age to age about some guy that lived 2000 years ago. In short, it’s no longer an abstraction.’
The Catholic faith is the most alive Faith on the planet. We have Christ with us in the Blessed Eucharist. Christ promised, “I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you.” John 14:18
‘It becomes the lived experience of the reality of our vulnrability and complete dependence on God. We can only lay the broken pieces of our hearts at the foot of the cross and wait.’
Beautiful. And I pray with all my heart that the Kaza’s will find healing at the foot of the Cross. It is such a very heavy cross. But Christ be with them! Christ IS with them!
‘Wait for the one who was crushed for us, to do that thing that only he can do. Save us.’
Amen. God love you dear brother in Christ!
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. It is such a comfort to know that somebody on this earth understands, even when we are not sure.
Hi Craig, I think that your comment highlights the floods of conflicting emotions and thoughts that assail us in the face of tragic loss. The loss of a child certainly feels like a letdown, and it’s okay to let God know that’s how we feel and that we feel anger. But that doesn’t mean we lose our faith. I think faith is challenged so it may grow. God permits these things, but they are the result of an imperfect world twisted by sin.
For me, tragedy brings to mind the words of St. Peter: “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of everlasting life.” We battle, wrestle with ourselves and with God, as Jacob wrestled the angel. We don’t deny the human reactions and emotions, but we do lift them to God and unite them to him. Every day I place my infant daughter on the altar of God’s mercy and love. I don’t understand why she isn’t with us, and I miss her more than words can say. But I know she is with God, and she is interceding for us. I still lash out in anger at God, or at the world, or just at nothing.
I think your comment about faith no longer being an abstraction is exactly right. Heaven for us now is more real, because we have a daughter there. God is more real because we know He is holding her in his arms. Our daughter calls us from Heaven, because we long to be where she is, to see her gazing on God’s face with eyes that we never saw open. Of course, we desire God, but having here there surely doesn’t hurt. Paradox. Our faith is full of it. “We can only lay the broken pieces of our hearts at the foot of the cross and wait.” Yes. Well said.
That’s amazing. Less than an hour ago I was responding to a comment of someone that was so disgusted with the magistierium that he was threatening to leave the Church. Attempting to talk him off the metaphorical ledge, I used that exact quote from John 6:68, “Lord to whom shall we go?” I never thought of it as something that can apply to us personally when we experience such pain that we are tempted to think that God doesn’t care about us. Thank you for sharing your testimony and insights. The raw reality of your experience, of dealing with grief and faith, is more valuable to me than many sermons. May Sebastian call to the Kaza’s from heaven the way that your daughter calls to you.
I don’t think I had ever thought of that passage in that way either, until I heard it as an answer to an experiential problem. Thanks for the opportunity to share my experience. It helps to process and derive new meaning from what has happened. I am sure Sebastian is calling to them just like my little Gianna. I’m sure she was there to welcome him to eternal bliss.
I normally don’t get on facebook but I got onto my Grandmothers and read this and fell into tears. I’m a part of a large family and could never imagine losing one of them. I am attending Adoration tonight, please know that I will be praying for your entire family to receive the grace to find peace, comfort, and joy knowing that Sebastian is Home. Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton, Pray for us.
Even through her grief Tabitha’s faith is a testament to the power of the love of Christ.
Although there are no words that adequately express the sorrow of losing your child, the most precious of gifts from God, Tabitha is a living example of the Light of Christ which shines in her heart, and is a comfort and a blessing to me.
Hail Mary, full of grace. Hold the family in your loving heart and help to comfort them.
Brave and beautiful family, and they will be in our rosaries and Masses. Before anyone agrees to allow their own or their child’s organs to be harvested, you should know that the heart is usually kept beating as long as possible and the organs taken before it stops. Also, the heart is taken while still beating or it is of no value to them. The Church, the true traditional Church, forbids this Satanic practice when it is done this way. It is something we need to inform ourselves about now and not wait until we are approached at our most vulnerable.
I refer you to this article on Breitbart written by a stem cell research scientist. We are not made by God for our parts.
http://www.breitbart.com/big-government/2015/08/17/genetic-research-scientist-likely-some-aborted-babies-are-alive-until-their-hearts-are-cut-out/
Thank you so much Steve for writing on this. Though I have a blog of my own, I never had the nerve or mental stability to write of it myself. It was soberly refreshing to read someone else who did. May God bless you and keep you and your son in health.
Thanks, Ryan. Much appreciated.