My Little Golden Book of Phobias

This morning I awoke thinking about friendship and who stays and who goes. Over the years there have been flood tides and slack tides of friends. Used to be, at Thanksgiving, there were a lot of people for dinner. Some years I'm alone, deep in grief or with a consuming need for quiet.

This morning, I'm alone with the katz and the goofy dog. I might be alone all day. I might visit a few new babies. My work is so draining, colossal, intimate-I need considerable time to myself.

Midwives are my friends. We understand each other, the stories we harbor and can't really tell to our families, our partners, anyone who doesn't do what we do. And yet, we see each other infrequently, at conferences or meetings. My midwife partners are unique friends. We carry the weight of our client load together. We share the stories our clients tell us, some so heartbreaking and terrible we too feel the pain. In fact, I think we always feel the pain of those in our care. Physical pain is easy. Labor hurts but it doesn't mean we're sick or injured. I find myself getting bigger and bigger during a labor, 'holding' the mother in compassion for her suffering but knowing it will be over. I fill the room with compassion and kindness, for her, for her partner and for her baby. I shouldn't say 'I' really. The room is suffused with compassion and love. And we're all inside it together.

So on this Spring day all the daffs and tulips I planted last year are blooming or about to bloom. The lilac is budded out. All manner of plants are sending out their shoots. The lettuce and spinach are getting bigger. The lake down the hill is shining like a flat blue plate. The mountains shimmer in the distance, snow on their roofs.

The singing world.