As a labor and delivery nurse, I’ve walked alongside families as they birthed and lost their children in the same day. As an end-of-life doula and a parent myself, I found myself uniquely prepared to support these families. In this role, I learned how to care for these babies, support families in bonding and bathing rituals. As my heart broke with them, I began to realize that this was my calling.

I learned about Talequah years before, and her story made me grieve deep in my bones. She, for 17 days pushed her dead calf up to surface to take a breath. Of course, the surface of this scene feels tragic and heart breaking. And yet, there is more here - She is on an ecstatic pilgrimage of grief and love and devotion.

I have supported families with children living with serious and terminal illness, I am actively working with families whose children are in hospice care. And what I see is their mothers and fathers and caregivers and siblings on quests of love and devotion. These journeys are ecstatic, not as in blissful, but as in stretched to the boundaries. Joy and grief are intertwined partners and reality lines are very blurry. As Myra Sack and Matthew Goldstein recall about their journey of losing their daughter Havi to Tay-Sachs disease, “We are transfiguring with her.”

In the past year as I have seen endless images of mothers and fathers and uncles and siblings holding their dead children in various acts of genocide, the box that I once felt safe in has exploded, leaving me looking for a new way to exist in the world. As Yuria Celidwen says, “Grief is the way to transformation.” I have uttered to myself, do not avoid this, allow what you are witnessing to transform you.

So, here I am. I won’t be able to make your journey any less than what it will be, but I will not be afraid to walk it along side you. I will trust your process of grieving and shifting and changing as you envelope your child’s life and everlasting impact. And as you make your own pilgrimage of love - I will support you.