"It's not something I ever wanted you to know I was good at"

Smart, scientific, and truly friendly. Honest. Those are all words that I would use to describe my midwife. She caught Jonah at the hospital and Rachel at home almost exactly three years later. I trusted her instincts and knew that I could lean on her when I was at my most vulnerable.

But I had no sense of how truly compassionate she was until Sarah's labor and delivery.  Not only did she take care of me and my husband, but she knew to step in and manage every detail before we even realized a decision needed to be made. We were never left out of the process. Instead, she fed us each part as we needed it.  

If you had told me that I could possibly handle spending 9 hours in labor, after being told that my baby was dead inside of me, I never would have believed you.  My first instinct was "God no, please get her out. Please let this end right now."

I wanted that c-section. I wanted resolution. And I thought that fast was better. But I didn't ask. I waited. And we managed. We talked. About serious things, about Bon Jovi and Murphey Brown. About how we named our dear Sarah. And about love and partners. She knew exactly where to touch and how to soothe. I never had to ask - it was like she knew. The continuity of care - the fact that I didn't have to worry at all about a changing shift of nurses - allowed me to let my guard down. And just be.

And it turns out that just being, just allowing time to pass, gave us time to process exactly what was happening. That our dream of a Sarah to bring home was gone. That life was going to be different.  And I'm quite sure now that had we rushed through the process, had a c-section, that the shock would be more pronounced than it is right now. 

Process has always been hard for me. I like answers. I like resolution and goals. I solve problems. Logic over heart.

I can clearly remember the first time I attended a yoga class, and the instructor thanked us for showing up.  Showing up? Until that moment, I had no idea I was such a competitive person. You don't get credit for showing up. You get credit for being awesome, for being smart, for being better. 

So that's why I'm writing. Because I need to process. Because there is no goal. Only the journey.

"We think that the point is to pass the test or overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don't really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It's just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy. ”
― Pema Chödrön, When Things Fall Apart: Heartfelt Advice for Hard Times

(With thanks to Ruth.)