Trigger Warning: This article may be a trigger to those who have suffered pregnancy loss. Please be sensitive if and when sharing with others.
By: Bella Hersko
I call them sad births. It’s a way of compartmentalizing it, I guess. A sad birth is the death of a dream. It’s the loss of a life that never truly got to live. It’s a candle of hope that is extinguished before it has been lit.
In my work as a doula, I’ve experienced many births. Each one is a world of its own, a miracle. While I can never forget any birth I’ve attended, the ones that remain seared in my memory are the sad births. Most days, between my familial obligations, my day job, and my work as a doula, I barely have time to eat, let alone think. But at night, when I close my eyes hoping to catch some respite, the scenes replay themselves in the darkness. I can feel the tears of the women and men who were told their babies would be born only to be buried. I can see that mother sobbing as she holds the lifeless form of her baby who will never give that first cry. I can hear the whispered tehillim from the man standing near his wife, praying for the strength to carry on and find joy again. The scenes dance around me any time I stop to take a breath and let myself feel.
A volunteer from HUG, the division at ATIME that deals with pregnancy loss, reached out to me several years ago. “Bella,” she said, “there’s this couple who is having their second baby. They just found out there is no heartbeat. Can you go to the hospital to assist them with the birth?” I agreed immediately, although I was apprehensive about it. It would be my first time attending a sad birth as a grief doula. I had no idea what I would see when I walked into that room. That night changed me forever, and every experience since has touched me in a different way.
If there’s anything I’ve learned over the past few years, it’s that each person deals with grief differently. No two people are alike, and I approach each situation as if it was my first. I assess the situation, and then deal with it accordingly. And most importantly, I listen. For most, this experience is one they will never forget, but also never discuss with others. If I am chosen as the person they share with, I take that responsibility very seriously, and I just sit and listen. When I left the hospital that first night, years ago, I left a piece of my heart behind in that room. There was a sorrow in those brightly lit hospital rooms that I had never witnessed before; a grief so deep it reached the depths of my soul. And yet, I promised myself I would do this all over again. I would help whoever I could in this situation, to the best of my ability.
Over the years, unfortunately, I’ve come to fulfill that promise countless times. There is a whole world unbeknownst to most, bh, that I’ve become a part of. There is sorrow and pain and grief and suffering. Yes, very much so. But there is also so much support and love and understanding and sympathy. The team at HUG astounds me with what they do for those going through pregnancy loss. I also got acquainted with the incredible people of Misaskim, and the work they do for nefalim. These silent warriors carry the burden without any expectations in return.
In my car, I travel with my regular doula package at all times, just in case. I also now have a small compartment with my grief package, including the packet from HUG and the forms from Misaskim. I stand in awe as I see the chessed that has been done for years, completely under the radar. You may have heard of babies born without a heartbeat. But did it ever cross your mind to think of who takes care of the burial? Misaskim has streamlined the process to make it as simple as possible for those who need it, r”l. What used to cost thousands of dollars was diminished to a small fee. What used to cause so much confusion now involves filling out a simple form. What used to be a crushing, unwelcome burden is now taken off their shoulders and carried by Misaskim.
I’ve seen the pure relief on my clients’ faces when they realized that there were organizations who could and would guide them through the process and hold their hands. For these grief-stricken souls, this support and assistance makes all the difference.
During a sad birth, I am witness to a pain so raw, it cannot be described. But I am also witness to the most inspiring show of support by selfless heroes, who do everything they can to ease that pain for a fellow Jew.
