My friend Sally is letting me borrow The Red Tent.
Despite all my interest in childbirth, I have never read it!
Now, I’m about halfway through the book.
Here’s a beautifully-written description of the burial of an infant who died after being a prematurely born:
“I held my sister, who was never given a name, and who never opened her eyes, and who died in my arms.
I was not afraid to hold that small death. Her face was peaceful, her hands perfectly clean. It seemed she would wake at any moment. The tears from my eyes fell upon her alabaster cheek, and it appeared that she mourned the passing of her own life. My mother came to take my sister from me, but seeing my sorrow, permitted me to carry her to burial. She was shrouded in a scrap of fine cloth and laid beneath the strongest, oldest tree within sight of my mother’s tent. No offerings were made, but as the bundle was covered with earth the sighs that poured from my mothers’ mouths were as eloquent as any psalm.”
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