If only I had a doula when my mother’s co worker called me saying she had been not feeling well and was taken by ambulance to the hospital.
If only I had a doula when I called said hospital and immediately was transferred to the chaplain. I knew what that meant.
If only I had a doula to tell me my first step was to feel. That it was ok to lose it, to lay on the floor screaming, aching, longing, struggling to process what was happening.
If only I had a doula not feel for me, but to be present for me. That anyone who looked at me was filled with pity, and sorrow. I wish I had a doula to say, “take one step at a time”.
If only I had a doula when I needed to know options about funeral arrangements, instead of a room full of my family forcing options, what they wanted, what she would have wanted. A doula to talk me through my options of probate, to sit with me while I cleaned out the house of 23 years of our memories as an only child and single parent household.
If only I had a doula when I needed someone to support me as I stood there shaking hand after hand for 4 hours at the visitation and “I’m so sorry” was the only thing people could say. To hold me when I lost it, finally, at the funeral, for being strong can only last so long.
If only I had a doula when I needed the support to come from someone who unbiasedly thought about me, with no judgement and not related to me or friends who knew my mother and tell me it was ok to be human.
The one solid piece of advice I got was when I turned on my mother’s cell phone that I dug out of her purse, turned it on and the screen said “Be Brave”. I learned that day, that even angels can be doulas. Finally, someone said
something other then I’m so sorry.