andrea gibson

Ya'll, I know this world is far from perfect.
I am not the type to mistake a streetlight for the moon.
I know our wounds are deep as the Atlantic.
But every ocean has a shoreline
and every shoreline has a tide
that is constantly returning
to wake the songbirds in our hands,
to wake the music in our bones,
to place one fearless kiss on the mouth of that brave river
that has to run through the center of our hearts
to find its way home.

i hoped i'd never have to write our break-up poem

you were my music-man
my dancer in the kitchen
my date to the fancy stuff
my protector
my stars and sky
my panther

you were, are, and always will be everything.

so how did we let ourselves slip away?

you were my snake charmer
heart racer
secret keeper
my sun and my moon.

you were joy
you were heartache
you were the pattern to my heart beat.

and as our moods swung - so swung our hearts.

and when you left, i cried oceans.

i searched for help
i searched for something
i searched for you.

because you are everything.

I saved all of my tears for the day that you
come back so we can wash our hands of the past with it
and of everything that led up to this moment and
this day.

I’d climb a mountain
collect stars in my pockets
jump from a plane
take the train
take the high-road
take the pain
take my heart

erase every single moment
up to this minute

in order to find a love like that again.
in order to get back what we lost.

because baby,
you are everything.

The Beginning - 7/8/11

That day I was just stopping by my mom’s to help her with some charts and organizing folders.
Thinking that was going to be my intro to the birth-world.
Then my mom says:
OK, I have to go to a birth now and you’re going to come with me...
Just like that.

I was nervous: I’m not ready. I don’t know enough. I’m not in the “birth clothes” that I imagined myself to be in. What will I do? What will I say? I’m ill-equipped.

And off we were. What happened in between 2 PM and 11 PM that night, I don’t think I can just describe and expect you to know. Because you can’t know unless you’ve been there. Unless you really know.

I didn’t do much. Made some post-labor tea for the mom and rubbed the charlie-horses out of her legs. But I was there – soaking it all up. Taking it all in. Being there.
Watching my mom. Her calm – ease – knowledge. Could I ever do that? Could I ever be that smart and gentle... and powerful?

When I got home that night, I just kept telling Chris: there’s nothing like it. I can’t explain it because there’s nothing like it.

I’ve heard before: This life. The birth-world – you don’t choose it. It chooses you.

That night. That crazy, unplanned night:
it chose me. 

something happened.

When it happened, I was sad that I hadn’t yet had a Briana Moment. Or a something-special that only she and I shared. Until now. Until just barely. Last week. I had my moment:

because I’ve thought about it.
never said it out loud.
never thought too deeply.
but it was strange to me that it’s entered my mind a few times
since that day.

but then – my phone rings and it’s my mom and its out of nowhere
“hello”
“hi”
“steen, do you want to be a midwife? I will help you.”

and my heart stopped.
because I’ve thought it
and I’ve felt it.
and my mom felt it.
there has to have been something
that made us feel it:
someone.

That feeling in my guts -
it makes sense now.
it was her.
she is still here.

And I’m not that kind of person.
I don’t rise.
I don’t change.
I’m safe.
I’m comfortable.

Things like this don’t happen to me -
but this happened to me.

I felt it
my mom felt it
and she knew.

she is not far from us.
not far at all, actually.
and there is some unfinished business.

I would be doing her, myself, and all of the women who missed out on their chance to have a Briana Moment, a disservice
if I didn’t listen to that tiny little twitch in my guts
that is whispering:
Rise. Tread water. Get in over your head. Race your heart.
Go. Do it. You have to do it.

I have to do it.

you're welcome.

You're welcome for living a calm, quiet life.
for doing what I need to, and staying out of the way.