Deeply grateful to Tova Brody @birthymama for sharing her piece about being a midwife in the midst of her own personal loss.

Who Holds Space for the Birthkeeper

Placing your hands on a beautiful, round belly and feeling movement inside While feeling a sudden stillness in your own womb

Telling the mama to talk to her baby, and summon him into the world Silently willing your own baby to stay put for a few more months

Placing the probe on your small swell and waiting to hear that rapid sound of life Only to be met with the slow, somber, lonely echo of your own pulse

You feel a tear begin to slowly roll down your cheek When suddenly the shrill of the ringing phone interrupts your grief

A happy mama, excited to share that her baby listened and is, indeed, coming You tell her you are on your way, tasting the salt of that one tear you let escape

Feeling the baby’s head descend as you lovingly massage the mama’s back Feeling a hollow ache in your own body

Crying tears of joy as she reaches down to greet her precious babe Knowing the tears you cry later will be for your own child, now lost

Crawling into bed at the wee hours of dawn Palpably aware of the quiet inside your middle

Offering tips to a queasy mama the next morning Conscious of your sudden lack of nausea and sickness

That afternoon, reviewing happy reports, scans of healthy babies While feeling the crinkle of the picture of your still baby, crumpled in your pocket

Answering the phone the next day A query if you still have availability in a few months

Hesitantly staring at your calendar, intentionally left empty for that time You pause before saying yes, you happen to have space

You share congratulations before hanging up the phone You cross out your own due date as your pencil in theirs, on that very day

Weeks pass You hold space each day for their joy and hold space each night for your sorrow

With your hands supporting the firmness of their middle contracting You feel your own cramping begin

You watch them ride the birth waves, seeing them feel every sensation You go home to ride your own waves, rollercoasters of emotion

You place a pad between their legs to catch the shed of the afterbirth You step out to change your own pad stained with the bright red of loss

You recall giving your client an exam just a few hours before As you check your own cervix to see if it’s open, and how soft

You envision the many babies born right in front of the toilet As you fall to the bathroom floor, surrendering to it all

You feel blood running down your legs and pressure in between

You reach down and catch your own babe, so small it only takes one hand

Your baby is born with its sac in tact, or ‘en caul’

This is said to be lucky, only you don’t feel lucky at all

You count his sweet little fingers, caress the tender, tiny toes

Hello and goodbye all at the same time

You wrap your perfect little baby and lay him to rest

You crawl back into bed

A surreal postpartum, with the usual cramping and bleeding

But no flowing milk, no crying babe

In a few weeks time, you return to your clients

The hugs and the smiles, holding space for their hardships and joys

A few months pass, your phone rings in the middle of the night

You are summoned to a mother in the throws of meeting her new babe

You open her chart

You notice the date

You listen, keep safe, you love, you hold space

You caress her hair and wipe her tears

You lift a straw to her mouth between the waves

You guide her hands to receive her babe

You place a cold pack between her legs

You tuck her in, as she basks in the glow

You tell her to drink, to nourish, to rest

You tell her to call, you will always come

You return home

Once again, you look at the date

You fall to your knees on the bathroom floor

You remember your birth that happened too soon

You always hold space for all

But right now, you give in, you surrender to the grief

Who holds space for the birth keeper Who holds her hair and wipes her tears

Who lifts a straw to her mouth between the waves And places a cold pack between her legs

Who tucks her in after her baby’s too early birth Who tells her to rest, to nourish, to sleep

Who leaves a number at her bedside, telling her to call Who answers to her in the middle of the night in her time of need

You slip outside into the darkness You look up at the moon, a moon that pulled out a baby that very night

That same moon, that months before, Pulled your baby out, but much too soon

You kneel on the ground and place your palm on the grass Like you kneeled months before to receive your babe

Your fingers feel the green that has grown since the earth there was fresh You remember laying your perfect child there to rest

Salty tears slide down your cheeks

As you cradle your empty womb.”