Every Baby Needs To Be Rocked

I didn’t know what to expect when I read Barbara Woodmansee’s “Every Baby Needs to Be Rocked,” but when I got to the paragraph about babies dying before labor had begun, I started to cry. I continued to sob until the end. When I collected myself, I read the poem that immediately followed, “What I Didn’t Say,” by Beverly Hartz, and the sobbing began anew.

I couldn’t control myself. I’m amazed at my reaction. I’m a seventy-three-year-old man who rarely cries, let alone sobs. Both pieces were heart-rending but also full of love and compassion.

Before the COVID-19 pandemic I was an emergency-room nurse. Barbara Woodmansee’s essay “Every Baby Needs to Be Rocked” [May 2022] brought me to tears as it showed the challenging and beautiful reality of nursing, especially at the end of a patient’s life.

I often see people in my city who are experiencing a crisis like houselessness, drug addiction, or mental illness, and I think, “That is someone’s baby right there.” I feel so helpless. When I get home, I rock my boys and hold them tight, lingering in each sweet moment of our time together.

As a Mormon missionary in Southern California, I regularly met with a woman named Candy. She had worked with missionaries for years: reading with us, baking for us, and feeding us. She became one of my closest friends.

When I left the Mormon Church and came out as a gay man, she sent me two texts. The first said, “I guess I should stop asking you about the chicky babes and start asking about the dudes,” and the second was five paragraphs of reassurance that I was loved, lovable, and worthy — all things I doubted after being a member of a religion with a fiercely antiqueer doctrine.

Barbara Woodmansee’s essay “Every Baby Needs to Be Rocked” [May 2022] reopened my grief over Candy’s passing in 2015. Candy, too, worked in hospice care, and though she never intended to join the Mormon Church, she always made time to show the missionaries kindness. Woodmansee writes, “One of the most important gifts we give to families in hospice is our presence.” This morning I am centered in gratitude for people like Woodmansee and Candy.

I am a retired hospice nurse, and each vignette in Barbara Woodmansee’s “Every Baby Needs to Be Rocked” went straight to my heart. It felt like the writing of a kindred spirit and reminded me of patients I’ve known. When I read Beverly Hartz’s poem “What I Didn’t Say,” I broke into tears. Some folks say how depressing The Sun can be, but I find that it gives me hope for humanity.