It’s time for your flash fiction Friday prompt today is all about lips. Well really it’s all about kisses. I can be a romantic at times. Okay okay the prompt: “A Kiss to Remember.”
Was it your first kiss, waking up to your dog kissing you, the goodbye kiss, or the first time you kissed your child. And Go!
Flash Fiction Friday is something that my writing group has gotten into. This week’s FFF is up on Jason Deeds’ blog. Here is my variation on “The Police were at the door,” specially themed for Friday the 13th.
The police were at the door. I shot away from the body, looked at him and muttered “shit.”
“We planned for this.” He stood up, pulled a comb out of his pocket, and ran it through his hair calmly. “Go put on stockings.”
“We’re going to get caught,” I hissed.
He pierced me with a look. “Stockings. Now. Or it will be your fault we get caught and I will not be happy.”
I shuddered and ran upstairs to the bedroom while he closed the door to the office and latched it.
I stopped just inside the door, shaken. The stockings had to match. I remembered that much. Bra, panties, dress, headband, stockings, everything had to match. As I pulled out an acceptable pair, I heard the door open.
“Good evening, officers. What can I do for you?” His voice floated up the stairs, sounding so professorial. I wondered how he could keep up the charade so well. I was glad to be a woman; glad that all I had to do was dress the part and keep quiet. Nobody suspects a demure woman.
“Sorry to bother you, sir… we wanted to ask you some questions about a man who went missing last week. We have reports that you spoke with him just before his disappearance.”
I heard them settling in the living room, and pulled the dark stockings over my legs, hiding any evidence of being anything but the professor’s nervous little wife. I settled the wig on my head, checked that everything matched in my wardrobe, and went downstairs to play the part.
Come join me for my Jewish perspective on midwifery over at “The Mamela Midwife.” (http://themamelamidwife.wordpress.com) From here on out, “The Covered Wagon” will be just personal stuff.
Monday was one of those days that happens once in a lifetime. It was a day of joys and sorrows, of support and overwhelming love.
At 3:40pm, I left the house, left the kids with Keith, and went to a friend’s house for the bris milah of her son. As the only other Jewish mama there who had been present at her son’s bris, I held this friend of mine while she shook and teared up during the ceremony and celebrated with the family afterwards. She and I are joined by yet another link in a chain of holiness stretching back thousands of years – we are mothers of boys who will become Jewish men and we added another link in that chain in that little house by bringing another child into the covenant. I helped her wipe her tears, cooed over those sweet little feet, heard her birth story, poured wine for family, and ate too many peanut-butter cookies.
Around 5pm, I rushed out to teach b’nai mitzvah lessons to a few of my 12 year old students. I marveled at how accomplished they were, how confident yet how unsure. I laughed with one boy when his voice cracked. I commiserated with a girl who was complaining about a tennis injury. I gave a “tough love” speech to a kid who just started his lessons, emphasizing his independence and responsibility to practice and seek help if he needed it. I high-fived a young man who finished learning everything he needed to learn a month before his bar mitzvah, struggling weekly with a tutor between sports practices to get it all learned. He glowed with pride and I was proud for him. I was proud of all the young men and women I worked with in that hour and a half, those children on the cusp of adulthood, longing to dive right in.
At 7pm, I found myself back in the same neighborhood as I was at 4pm, in a very different house. Our host was a man mourning the loss of his mother, and I was one of many mourners reciting ancient words to comfort the living and honor the dead. I looked around her house, filled with people who loved her and loved her family, with mementos and books and remnants of her life here, and marveled that at 95 years old, she had seen so much and lived so heartily. I recited “Life and Death are twins” and my eyes welled up with tears, my mind playing back through my day to the bris and the promise of new life and that sacred miracle that is birth. I listened to stories, gave my condolences after the brief service, and left with a much heavier heart.
Life and Death are twins, inextricably linked in the passage of time. My job, my calling, is as a guardian over a cusp in time, a place where one breath, one heartbeat, one second is the difference between life and death. These sacred moments, where the Gate of Heaven is open and either a soul enters the body in birth or the soul leaves the body in death, those moments are heavy and heady. I sat in my car after shiva and breathed heavily with my head on the steering wheel. I had witnessed a holy few hours, a lifetime in one day.
I started the car and drove to dinner with my family, hugging my babies and my husband a little tighter. These are the days that give life meaning – they are the “living” in our daily lives.
“L’dor vador,” from generation to generation… three times a day we say those words, followed by praises of G-d and His greatness. There is a strong feeling in Judaism that G-d has pervaded the lives of our people, from the Garden of Eden and the Exodus through the Holocaust, the formation of Israel, and beyond. There is a strong devotion to us being G-d’s people even today, and to passing that relationship to our children and our children’s children.
We just completed our first unit in midwifery school; a unit on midwifery history and a history of obstetrics in the US. It was depressing, maddening, disheartening, and allowed all of us to rant quite a bit. Money, power, politics, greed, sexism, classism… all of this went into the fall of the midwife and the rise of the doctor; the replacing of home with the hospital or birth center; the legalization of the nurse midwife, subordinate to doctors (as befits a woman’s place) and the ostracization of the independent and autonomous “lay” (traditional) midwife.
I wish I had something to say about it all, but the thoughts keep whirling in my head. I’m baffled how so many women gave away their choices , but I can see why. I’m baffled why smart, modern women keep giving away even more choices, but I can see why. I’m angered at midwives from all walks of life and training for not coming together because what is good for women is good for ALL midwives, and vice versa. I can see why, but I cannot agree that this was good for women or midwives.
Politics aside, I’m struck over and over with lay midwifery’s emphasis on the apprenticeship model. “To each one, teach one” is a mantra that is taken very seriously. As a Jew, I feel a special kinship with the midwives before me, Jewish or not. My education as an apprentice honors the generations of midwives who came before me, and I’m proud to be another link in an unbroken chain that goes back to Shifra and Puah perhaps.
“L’dor vador,” yet another link between the vocation that has chosen me and the religion that has chosen me. I hope that my work as a midwife and my life as a Jew honors all my ancestors. I look at my children and hope that someday I can pass my love of G-d and Torah to them. I look to the future and hope someday a woman will want to learn midwifery from me. The chain is still unbroken and it is our duty as the next generation to preserve it for those yet to come.
The house ain’t clean, but the kids are happy.
I have been out of balance recently.
Many of my relationships, my work life, my eating habits, even my relationship with my dog… the only thing I seem to have balance in has been my relationship with my children (for which I’m very grateful).
I am learning that balance is about prioritizing and then defending your priorities with boundaries. There is so much I want to do with my life, so many friends to which I want to devote time and energy and all this endless love I have… I forget that my time and my energy are limited. I forget that I can only do so much well. I forget that I have to take from places/people/things to give to others.
I have prioritized a lot this past week. I have streamlined the number of places where I want to give my energy. I have started recognizing the things I am willing to give up and the things I am not. I have reached a very vulnerable place with my family – a place where in order to be the person I feel like I am meant to be and to build the dream I think I was put on this world to build, I need to ask for help and accept it. I need to be dependent upon the people and things that matter to me, and that means letting those things and people know that I depend upon them.
This is making me stronger. This is making me more secure. This is making me happier. It’s a hard process, trusting those people and things to not take advantage of my vulnerability, but it’s a process of growth that gets me closer to being that person I believe I need to be.
Reb Zusha was laying on his deathbed surrounded by his disciples. He was crying and no one could comfort him. One student asked his Rebbe, “Why do you cry? You were almost as wise as Moses and as kind as Abraham.” Reb Zusha answered, “When I pass from this world and appear before the Heavenly Tribunal, they won’t ask me, ‘Zusha, why weren’t you as wise as Moses or as kind as Abraham,’ rather, they will ask me, ‘Zusha, why weren’t you Zusha?’ Why didn’t I fulfill my potential, why didn’t I follow the path that could have been mine.” (taken from this site)
This story which our rabbi used in his sermon this week struck me hard. What am I doing to be the best Sara I can be? What are the things I want to be remembered for? Where does my time and energy go? Is that distribution helping me to become the person I want to be remembered as? Or is it a distraction?
I’m finding more and more that as things fall into place, as I begin shifting my energy towards the things that matter to me, I am happier and more productive. I can give even more to the things that matter – my best friends, my husband, my work, my shul. I’m getting to a place where I feel like I am moving forward every moment of every day, being the best Sara I can be.
What are your priorities? Do your daily activities reflect them or are you being sidelined by distractions and overcommitting yourself to things that take away from what matters to you?
The following post is excerpted from an essay I wrote for one of the modules in my midwifery program. I began class two weeks ago, and have been struggling with what to write about midwifery school. I’m still conflicted as to why I feel called to do this, especially at this time in my life, but I’m working on trusting in G-d and trusting in myself to do what I feel called to do.
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My motivation to study midwifery began when I was preparing for my second child. My first child was born by a long, traumatic cesarean, and I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t have another baby in the hospital unless it was the best decision for my child and me. With our local cesarean rates skyrocketing, the VBAC rates dropping, and more active management of labor in our local hospital, I felt like my only option for a safe VBAC (which I knew to be my best personal option) was in my own home.
I began interviewing providers, and had provider after provider tell me that I was doing the wrong thing by wanting a “primary VBAC” at home. I was putting my baby at risk: did I really want my baby to die? If I had had a vaginal birth before, it would be a different story, but did I really want to go into a HBAC with an “untried pelvis?” Even more frustrating were the providers who told me that they would love to attend my birth because they knew it was safe, but their backups would “never allow it.” I interviewed 14 OBs, CNMs, FPs, and DOs before I gave up in despair and resigned myself to either having my baby in the hospital or having an unassisted HBAC. Unassisted birth was a choice that I personally was not comfortable with, but I was no more comfortable with the thought of walking into a hospital voluntarily.
That pregnancy ended in a miscarriage just as I found out about a not-so-local CPM, Karen Webster. I didn’t know anything about CPMs except that they are not legal in PA, but she was the only person who would even entertain the thought of attending me. I met her and was blown away by her experience, her safety record, her professionalism, and her compassion. This wasn’t my image of an “illegal” midwife, and her wisdom and courage was the single largest influence in my desire to become a midwife myself.
My journey to study midwifery has been influenced by many people; some key players, some support roles, and lots and lots of “extras.” One of the key players has been my husband, Keith. He has been unwavering support to me in this process, and has been by my side through my births, supporting whatever decision I made for myself and our children. He is my confidence, my kick-in-the-pants, and my sounding board. Another huge influence has been my friend and someday-partner, Kerry, whose enthusiasm, encouragement, and camaraderie has been instrumental in getting me out of a place of fear to do this.
I feel like I have a few great strengths that I bring to midwifery. Physically, I don’t need much sleep to function well, I have a strong body, and am able to work happily and supportively for long hours. Emotionally, I have gone through the worry and pain and uncertainty of having a less than ideal birth, and the triumph of having the birth experience I wanted. I have experienced the feelings of transfer as well, so I feel I can help mamas to deal with their emotions surrounding transfer if it becomes necessary for them. I also have an insatiable thirst for science and spend lots of my free time poring over the latest obstetrical research and statistics.
I am passionate and “out there” about women’s (being Hispanic, especially minority women’s) rights as they center around maternity care in the US. I see my work as a midwife being central to the struggle for women’s rights. We are taking back our choices in the care we receive and putting the power where it belongs; with women who will be properly educated as to their choices and given the autonomy to make the best personal decision for themselves without interference or bias.
My shortcomings will be my impatience and my lack of organizational skills. I am a worrier and will have to calm myself down in order to be a calming influence on the mamas that I serve. I am hoping that my respect for the process of birth and respect for the mothers who birth with me will outweigh the impatience I have. Organizationally, I’m hoping to develop good, consistent record-keeping habits and have Kerry’s help in enforcing those habits as we establish our practice. I will need to set those up before I attend my first birth and keep them consistent, and I’m hoping that the NARM record-keeping will help me as well in all of this.
I still have days of doubt as to why I felt called to jump into the profession of a midwife, and I’m hoping that as I learn more I will find my niche. Through experiencing birth with my own hands and eyes and accompanying women along their journeys through pregnancy, I hope that the reasons for my being called by G-d to do this are revealed.
“Oh grow up, already!”
My good friend Jeff gave a moving sermon on this topic at his church last Sunday. He spoke of the difficulty of being decisive, of choosing a path, of not knowing when you choose that path who will be hurt by it or if you’ll even get anything good out of it. Of making your risk/benefit analysis and then making that necessary leap of faith. Of trusting yourself and owning your decision when you’ve made it.
I made a choice today at noon. It wasn’t filling out the paperwork. It wasn’t getting it notarized. It wasn’t even writing out the check, sealing the envelope, or putting on the stamp. It wasn’t walking out to the mailbox and putting an envelope inside. It wasn’t putting up the flag to alert the postal worker.
It was walking away. It was leaving that envelope there and closing the door behind me. The choice continues to be made as I sit here at my computer, breathing heavily, heart pounding, knowing I’ve made my choice and owning that choice. The choice is not letting my fear of inadequacy decide what my future will be.
Jeff quoted a part of one of my favorite Psalms in his sermon, Psalm 19:15:
Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable before Thee, O HaShem, my Rock, and my Redeemer.
~ Jewish Publication Society
I am trusting in G-d that this path that I feel He has led me to is the right one. I am choosing my career and changing my life based on this trust; on the hope that “the words of my mouth and meditations of my heart” will be acceptable. I’m growing up. I’m making a choice. Not a choice like college, which was never really a choice for me. Not a choice like staying at home with the kids, which was never (for me) long-term or viable.
I found a partner, I sent in my application, I was accepted into the school. I filled out the paperwork, enclosed the check, and I’ve made my choice.
Baruch atah Hashem Eloheinu, Melech ha-olam, shehechiyanu, v’kiy’manu, v’higiyanu, lazman hazeh.
Blessed are You, Lord G-d, Ruler of the universe, who has kept me alive, sustained me, and enabled me to reach this moment.
I’m officially, as of noon on Thursday, January 13, 2011, a student midwife at the Institute of Holistic Midwifery.
We have recently been on vacation in Florida, taking advantage of the holidays and easy work breaks to go visit my grandparents and show off their second great-grandchild, my Naomi. We visited my mother’s parents and ate good food, had stimulating conversation, heard fantastically embarrassing stories, and had way too much expensive booze. It was peaceful, quiet, elegant, and relaxing, and it was wonderful to see my Gram and Gramps happy and healthy.
Today, we traveled to Coral Gables, a “neighborhood” of Miami, to visit my father’s parents, my Grandmama and Abuelo. Walking in the door, I was struck with the sudden urge to cry. In the same place it has been since they moved to this house stood the Christmas tree. This tree, a fresh one every year, has ornaments from my grandparents’ wedding, my father’s first Christmas, and my first Christmas. It has ornaments that I made for them. It is bright and beautiful and festive and perfect: it is The Christmas Tree, a tree to which all others pale in comparison.
Standing there in my abuela’s living room, watching my younger cousins help my children unwrap their gifts from “Santa,” I fought that urge to cry. Not because the tree itself looked smaller than it did when I was a child. Not even because we had missed the wonderful but excruciating family tradition of watching every person unwrap their gifts in order of age on Christmas morning while my aunt and dad paraded around in Santa hats.
I fought the urge to cry because this wonderfully beautiful and familiar tree had me feeling more alien than I’ve ever felt in my life. This ubiquitous symbol of Christmas, with ornaments with my own picture on it, had me feeling like a stranger in a room where I had run as a child and unwrapped countless gifts. I have never in my life felt so alien, so other, so Jewish, as I did this afternoon; and for the first time, I was struck by an incredible sadness.
I cannot get those Christmases back, and their ghosts haunt me. I made a choice to be Other, and I do not regret that choice… but I was reminded of the magnitude of that choice this afternoon on New Years’ Day of 2011. My family still loves and includes us in their way and for that I’m appreciative, but that Christmas tree in Coral Gables with its shiny ornaments and porcelain angels will forever be a reminder of something I can never have again and someone I will never be again, and I spend the first day of a new year mourning that which is lost; a connection to family that has stretched back in a thread longer than my grandparents’ lives.
