I gave birth to a stillborn baby boy shortly before Rosh Hashanah. I was at the end of my second trimester, caught totally off guard when the midwife couldn’t find a heartbeat. After years of working as a chaplain for a labor-and-delivery unit at a hospital, I knew what would have to happen next: I would have to go through labor induction and give birth.
Faced with a task I absolutely did not want to complete, I clung to my husband, Avi, and swore and cracked jokes and made a list of things to hope for when the hospital ordeal was over. If I’d allowed the hospital chaplain to see me, they might have thought I was avoiding grief. But there’s no avoiding grief.
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