The first part of Claudia Lucia Chamorro's life was charmed. She was an artist, the director of an art gallery and the daughter of a leading progressive journalist in
Nicaragua. Her energy and talents fused into portraits and watercolors.

But her father's assassination in 1978 plunged the family into revolutionary politics, and the illness of her young son years later presented her with more pain and
tossed her onto U.S. shores.

Through her book, "Tiempo de Vivir," or "Time to Live," which is dedicated to her son Tolentino, Chamorro hopes she can help other families deal with their pain,
and that it will lead to the creation of a registry for bone marrow donors in Latin America.

Chamorro lives in Potomac with her husband, Edmundo Jarquin, an official at the Inter-American Development Bank, and their youngest son, Mateo. She spoke
this week about the lessons she learned from a reformist movement that went sour and from the courage and wisdom of her dying son. She described a life shaped
by a passionate family of independent thinkers divided by ideology and exile, but reunited by unconditional love and an unwritten rule of solidarity in the face of
hardship.

Chamorro's father, Pedro Joaquin Chamorro, was the publisher and owner of La Prensa and a leader of the rising opposition to Gen. Anastasio Somoza, the
Nicaraguan leader in the 1970s. Despite threats on his life, Pedro Chamorro often traveled unaccompanied, and in 1978 assailants pursued his car and gunned him
down.

His death fueled the rebellion that lead to the overthrow of Somoza 18 months later. His widow, Violeta Chamorro, who had taken over the family newspaper,
joined a civilian junta in the new Sandinista government. She grew disenchanted with the Sandinistas, however, and became a presidential candidate for a party that
opposed them. She was elected in 1990 and served until 1997.

But Claudia Chamorro, who had become a Sandinista activist, remained loyal to the movement. In the 1980s, she served as a negotiator for the junta, took over
ambassadorial posts in Cuba and Costa Rica and had diplomatic assignments.

Her brother, Pedro Joaquin Chamorro Jr., became a leader of the contra rebels who opposed the Sandinistas. Feeling threatened at home, he went into exile to
Costa Rica at the same time his sister was the Sandinistas' ambassador there.

"Those were tough times. The family was divided," Claudia Chamorro said. "I was still a Sandinista and my brother was leading demonstrations in Costa Rica
against my embassy. We all thought we wanted what was best for Nicaragua. This mirrored what was happening in every family in Nicaragua, but we were in the
spotlight."

In time, the Sandinistas, who had seized property they vowed was for the people, found themselves out of power, and Chamorro and her husband withdrew their
support.

In 1991, her son was found to have leukemia, and doctors later learned that he had the Philadelphia chromosome, which made his illness resistant to chemotherapy.

The family moved to the United States in 1991, first to Houston so that Tolentino could receive treatment at Children's Hospital there, and then to the Washington
area, for more aggressive treatment at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore.

"My mother came to visit often," Chamorro said. "Of her 12 grandchildren, he was the one who resembled my father the most."

Throughout his illness, Tolentino lived with hope but was frustrated that he could not study, have a profession one day and do something for others, his mother said.
With his family gathered around his bed at Johns Hopkins, Tolentino asked each of his siblings not to squander the opportunities he was going to miss: chances to
study, work and become a parent. The teenager died in 1996.

"I don't like the word tragedy. Death is not a tragedy, it is a moment in life," Chamorro said. "You cannot change your sorrow, but you have to live with it, with
dignity. That was my major role as a mother."

A year after her son died, she took a job with the Pan American Health Organization, which is part of the World Health Organization, a position she held until this
February.

"I think I am blessed, because I was able to live this experience so intensely and get something positive out of it," she said. Still, she said, "My soul had to rest."

She went back to school at American University and gathered strength from her environment.

"Being in Washington has helped me be constructive. People are open-minded and open-hearted. . . . Even though it is an individual-centered society, you get the
support that you need when it matters," Chamorro said.

The book has given her a new avenue. "I want to promote awareness about bone marrow transplants . . . to make it part of the public health agenda in our
countries," she said.

The book, published in Spanish, begins with a posthumous letter to her son asking for permission to share their private moments, including the many conversations
they had about death and heaven, and whether he would be alone there.

"No," she told her son. "Your grandfather will be waiting for you."

                                              © 2003