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Her blood ran cold through my hands. I was always shocked how quickly the temperature dropped once it leaves the body. The color in her face hadn't paled yet, and her body was warm and soft to the touch still. But she was gone already. When you bleed out like that, it's only a matter of seconds. I looked at her lifeless eyes. She must have been cute as a child, but life here was harsh on people and everyone looked much older than their age. She, too, had to live through hardships from the time she was born. And now, the life she was about to birth, had taken hers in the process. The labor was too hard on her still growing body. She came to me during the late stages of it. The man, who dropped her off, looked nervous. "Please, help her. I don't know what to do with her. There is nothing I can do for her". The girl already looked worn to death. The man didn't stay long enough for me to ask any questions and the girl was too exhausted and weak. I brought her in and tried to make her comfortable in the room I kept prepared for such things. I never received any official training. Like the majority of people here, advanced schooling was a privilege for those who moved far away from here. I learned what I knew from my mother, who had learned it from her mother. The rituals and traditions of our service to laboring women went back much further than that. Despite the declining population, there was always a need for a doula. And a mortician. I finally managed to pull the dead infant from the girl's body, now that her own dead body lost its tension enough to relinquish the life that was gone before it was born. I closed the girl's eyes. Then I proceeded with the postmortem care for both of them. Tradition demanded certain ways to handle their dead bodies. Deeply ingrained in the belief that our souls need permission to leave here, the preparations of the dead were done ritualistically to allow Soul to move on from this place to wherever it was being called to. After I was done, I brewed some coffee. It wouldn't be long for the mortician to arrive. I already sent the signal for him to come when I changed the wood in the fireplace that would change the color of the smoke rising from my chimney. At times I felt as if he could sense when someone died. His arrival seemed impeccably timed too many times for me not to wonder about it. As usual, we sat down in the kitchen and mindfully drank the coffee I poured for us, mixed with the sweetened cream I always kept on hand for these occasions. It would be a long night for him. He was meticulous in taking care of the dead, even when he didn't get paid for it, as would be the case with this young girl and her infant. We both stopped trying to speculate about dead people. We had heard too many stories that would dishearten even Jesus from saving mankind. Neither of us had any interest in saving humans. Even though I assisted them into entering this world when the fates chose so, I knew full well that my being there had no power over someone living or dying. I was simply here, to help whoever came through my doors, make it to their next step. It was not in my powers to save a life. Now, you may think that modern medicine holds that power. And if these women would receive modern medical care, no one would have to die. But I can assure you, the records show differently. Stories traveled back from the big city frequently, where the officials had poured large sums of money into the new state of the art hospital. The modern city with its brand new hospital held as many tragedies there, as our small place did here. You may wonder who it is that holds the power over our life. But no matter how much research has been done, (s)he who gives us the breath of life remains as illusive to any of us, who think they can outsmart our own lifesource. ~•~ a beautiful milieu Image Manuel Vilanova https://www.instagram.com/manuelvilanova/