Drops of Jupiter

Like many little girls, I adored Disney princesses. I longed to be just like them, even enduring itchy gowns and wearing rubber slippers while pretending to talk to birds or stirring magic potions. One common theme of fairytales, I noticed, was that the princess’s mother would pass on early in the story; Snow White, Jasmine, Cinderella, Belle, Ariel, Aurora…the list is extensive. Although little Katia wanted so much to be like these princesses, I never wanted to lose my own mother. Unlike these stories, which portray loss as a character-building feat to overcome within the span of a three minute ballad, losing my mama to childbirth still sends shockwaves after seventeen years. Memories from my four-year-old mind faded quickly, and I depended on my family to share her life with me. Her story, as inspiring as any brave princess’s, soon became my favorite fairytale. Today, March 27, honors women like my mama who have died in childbirth from an extremely rare condition known as an Amniotic Fluid Embolism (AFE). AFE is caused when the amniotic fluid surrounding the baby enters the mother’s bloodstream during labor, causing cardiac arrest, stroke, seizures, blood coagulation, and usually death. Although it is fairly common for fetal tissues to enter the mother’s bloodstream, an AFE is rare in that there is an allergic-like reaction to the amniotic fluid, prompting the immune system to fight against itself. If the mother does survive, she is often left with permanent neurological deficits and heart damage (National Library of Medicine). My younger brother was still in my mama’s belly when she was pronounced dead, and he miraculously survived. She was his hero, losing her life so he could live his. AFE kills roughly 1 in 40,000 child-bearing women in the US, or 0.0025%, a nearly impossible figure. My mama was one in a million in every way, sadly even in the way she passed. Instead of highlighting this villain that killed my mama, I want to open the pages of her life and finally share them with my world so that she can be honored as the hero she was.

My mama, Rebecca Griffin, did more in 36 years than most accomplish their whole life. She was an international trade lawyer in Washington DC, a Peace Corps volunteer in Russia, a marathon runner, a jokester, and an attentive mother. Like me, she stood at a tall 5’10” and used this to her advantage in sports like volleyball and basketball. She was frequently featured in her small Wyoming town newspaper, praising her aggressive spikes and accurate layups. Her athletic drive inspired her to run in the DC marathon, where she survived 26.2 miles in blistering heat while my older brother, Ben, and I cheered her on from the sidelines. I think that if she were to list her greatest accomplishment, though, it would be becoming an international trade lawyer at a firm in Washington DC, arguably one of the greatest locations to study law in the world. As Legally Blonde depicts, law school is challenging in and of itself, but my mama did it while having TWO children under the age of three. I can only imagine how stressful it would be to have a crying infant beside you as you study for the bar (even harder to imagine is that crying infant being me). During her graduation, mama carried baby me with her to receive her degree, earning her a standing ovation and adulation in the Maryland newspaper. She was a woman ahead of her time, being the sole provider of my family and showing that women can be attentive mothers and successful in their careers. 

The grandest adventure of my mother’s life was when she and my father journeyed with the Peace Corps to a remote village in Russia for two years. There, they taught English to elementary school children, improved their language skills, and integrated into a culture vastly different from their own. A piece of their daring adventure was uprooted and planted in me when they chose to name me, “Katia” after some of their little students.  The tales of the bitter Russian winters, post-Soviet climate, and rowdy schoolchildren were animated in the photo albums she collaged. Looking through those was like opening a historical artifact of a praised adventurer you always wish you could have known.

As I have grown up, my mother’s fairytale story transformed into a collection of memories, detailing her complex and inspiring life. Although her villain, AFE, cursed her with the most wicked spell of being a stranger to her children, I vow to undo that sorcery by sharing her light. Pieces of her are forever frozen in time, captured and stored in the lives of those closest to her. My older brother Ben shares her intrigue of scientific novels and passion for academia, while Jimmy holds her athletic drive and witty humor. There are three aspects of myself that I would never insult, even jokingly: my face, my laugh, and my name, because they all come directly from mama. Someone in the world carries her ocean blue eyes, since she donated them once she passed. It has always been my greatest fantasy to meet that person and see my mother’s eyes again, the window to her soul. For a long time, I have tightly concealed my mama’s legacy without realizing that it was a treasure worth sharing. Thank you for embracing this treasure by reading this far and in doing so, helping me in my mission of making sure that the name “Rebecca Griffin” is never forgotten.