The Bereaved Mother (carries her dead baby)
“Do animals grieve?” This was the title of the episode of the Unexplainable podcast that I was listening to when I learned about Tahlequah, the orca who, in 2018, captivated news media around the world as she carried the body of her dead calf in the Arctic waters for over 2 weeks. I related so much to this whale, because I am a bereaved mother, and also an artist. This is the painting that I made inspired by Tahleqah’s story.
Tahlequah, the killer whale mother (whom researchers designated J35) had given birth to her calf near Victoria, British Columbia on July 24, 2018. The calf did not survive and died within hours of being born. Not wanting to leave her baby behind, Tahlequah began to carry her baby through the waters, following her orca pod as they swam miles from where she had given birth.
According to a statement from the Center for Whale Research, “The baby’s carcass was sinking and being repeatedly retrieved by the mother who was supporting it on her forehead and pushing it in choppy seas.” Tahlequah continued this for days and weeks and attracting the attention of international news outlets.
“Since the infant’s death, its mother has carried its body with her everywhere she goes,” writes Colin Dwyer for NPR. “Sometimes nudging the calf with her nose, sometimes gripping it with her mouth by the flipper, sometimes diving to retrieve it when she loses her grip, the mother has been observed bearing her dead child for at least seven days across hundreds of miles.” More specifically, Tahlequah carried her baby for at least seventeen days and over 1,000 miles, according to Ken Balcomb, founder of the Center for Whale Research, prompting him to call it a “tour of grief.”
The reason I relate so much to Tahlequah the killer whale is because I too have carried my dead baby. I am also on a tour of grief, and I too am a bereaved mother.
After struggling for years with my infertility due to Endometriosis Stage 3 and undergoing In-Vitro Fertilization (IVF), I gave birth to my identical twin girls on July 21, 2020 (my girls’ birthday is 3 days before the birthday of Tahlequah’s baby!), so they’re COVID babies. Because they were born 7 weeks early, they spent a month in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) before coming home in August.
On the morning of September 24, 2020, one of our twins, Aurora Annette, didn’t wake up. She was pale, her body was limp and unresponsive. I called 911 as my spouse attempted infant CPR, until Emergency Medical Services arrived. I’ll never forget sitting in my living room, holding Aurora’s twin, while watching the EMS doing everything they can to revive her. They rushed her to the hospital in an ambulance. The emergency room doctor told us that he will try to revive her by using epinephrine. Unfortunately, Aurora’s little heart would not start and she was gone.
It must have been a slow morning in the Emergency Room, because they allowed us to stay and hold her for a while. The room was empty, and the doctors and nurses had cleared out, except for the nurse who was holding Aurora as we entered. As she handed Aurora to me, I remember telling her that I had just received their birth announcement and was preparing to mail it out to all of our friends and family. Two weeks earlier, we had brought them to the mall to have professional photos taken for the birth announcement. The nurse kindly encouraged me to mail them anyway. Aurora was indeed born, along with her sister, and it was an announcement of their birth, after all.
Three years later, and it’s still incredulous to me that all of this has happened. How is it that I have given birth to twins, only for one of them to die? Even after the mental and physical toll that IVF has taken on me, why did it result in only one, healthy, viable embryo? Why did this embryo then split? Why did I become pregnant with twins (and have to endure a high risk pregnancy, wrought with complications including preeclampsia and cholestasis of pregnancy)? How am I still a twin mom if one of my twins dies? Why did I have to go through so much? Why did my baby have to be taken from me so soon?
I know now that I’ll never know why, but that doesn’t stop the torturous questions from taking over my mind. I’ll never know why, but I’ll always wonder why. This is one of the reasons that my art practice has become so integral to my grief journey. In the early and intense days of grief, I had to balance learning to be a new mother to my surviving twin daughter, while grieving her sister and processing the emotional fallout from this devastating tragedy. I don’t know how I did it. I just know that painting got me through it, probably because I was able to release all of those feelings onto the canvas.
Painting provides me with a truly safe and secure space for me to externalize and explore the more difficult thoughts and feelings of grief and trauma. The numerous layers of my infertility trauma are years in the making. Maybe this is why my paintings have so many layers in them as well. These layers consist of matte acrylic, fluorescent acrylic, metallic acrylic, and topped with colorshifting pigment, making my paintings change colors from different angles.
I put all of my feelings into my art. I alchemize my grief and trauma into paintings of the Aurora Borealis. I dedicate all of my paintings to my daughter, Aurora Annette, and I write her name and dates on the back of each canvas. As an artist and bereaved mother, I ensure that Aurora’s memory lives on and that my yearslong struggle to motherhood is acknowledged all through my art. This is why I’m the Grief Alchemist.
I’ve been painting the Aurora Borealis, essentially since Aurora Annette died, so I do believe that her spirit lives on in my paintings. I realized that as I see my artwork evolve, it is the closest that I will be to watching her grow up alongside her twin sister. I also realize that I’m not only painting for Aurora, but for her sister as well. When I paint, I am able to release some of the anger, resentment, and sadness that I carry from the loss of my daughter. However, in doing so, I am able to be a happier and more present mother for my surviving daughter.
I think in this way, my painting The Bereaved Mother (carries her dead baby) is the visualization of my own “tour of grief.” Tahlequah becomes a symbol for me as a mother, as I have literally carried my dead baby, when I held her in the hospital emergency room. I continue to carry her memory in each of my paintings. I bring her to the present moment every time I talk about my artwork. My art and my grief are so intrinsically intertwined that it’s impossible for me to talk about one without talking about the other.
This particular painting (which is in a colorshifting Baroque-style frame that I painted by hand!) made its debut at my very first art fair, Superfine Art Fair in New York City in September 2023. It was an amazing experience and I had the opportunity to share my story, my grief, and my art with so many people. It was incredibly validating to me as a bereaved mother, and as an artist.
See more of my artwork on instagram @AngelinaPaintsAuroras and on my website angelinapaints.aurorasforaurora.com.
I also realized that with this painting, I can bring awareness to the endangered species status of orcas! Tahlequah and her family are a type of killer whale known as Resident orcas. According to the Endangered Species Coalition, “In 2005, the Southern Resident Orcas were designated as endangered under the federal Endangered Species Act, and they are one of the most critically endangered marine mammals in the United States.” The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration Fisheries has implemented an ongoing research and conservation program to learn the contributing factors of the Southern Residents’ population decline. Orcas use echolocation and sound waves to communicate, hunt their food, and orient themselves. However, increased underwater noise from passing boats and marine vessels threaten the orcas’ ability to feed and find one another. Not only that, but unlike the other types of orcas that feed on marine mammals and squid, Southern Resident killer whales eat exclusively fish. “Without enough prey, killer whales might experience decreased reproductive rates and increased mortality rates. This threat is especially important for Southern Resident killer whales because some populations of their preferred prey, Chinook salmon, are also threatened or endangered.” (Source: NOAA Fisheries)
(Author’s Note: Also, full disclosure, I recently finished one of my favorite books, Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood. It had been over a decade since I last read it, and suddenly rereading it in 2023, much of the futuristic dystopian plot feels like it will be Twilight Zone or Black Mirror ending we’ll all be dying to experience. Also, one of the games that they play in the book is called “Extinctathon” and included several currently endangered species, but in the book, were extinct, including Beluga Whale. I feel inspired and motivated to incorporate more endangered species into my Aurora paintings. I imagine that Arctic animals are at an especially high risk with the increased warming of our planet. Oh, and I think I will call my upcoming series of animal paintings “Extinctathon”. Thank you for reading!)