Little Bringers of Light

I was 24 years old, trapped in an abusive relationship with the father of my four middle children and pregnant with my third child. We lived in a farmhouse in Mt. Angel, Oregon in the middle of a wheat field. We also had a little apartment about 50 miles away, in Portland, one block from the Hare Krsna temple where we would stay on Saturday and Sunday nights while engaging in temple worship and taking advantage of being in the association of devotees.

I had given birth to my first child in a hospital (1971) and my second child at home (1976), with only my husband and first child present during the birth. I thought I might need some extra help this time around so we hooked up with a midwife for some prenatal care and made the arrangement with her that we may, or may not, call her to attend us during the birth.

I knew the date of my baby's conception but the midwife thought I was one month less pregnant than I was telling her I was. Before her, I had gone to see a naturopathic doctor for a prenatal check up and he had told me the same thing, that the baby would be born one month later than I was expecting so even though I knew better, I allowed them to convince me otherwise. My contractions came on December 22, 1978 when I wasn't expecting my baby to be born for another month. I was washing diapers and baby cloths in my wringer washer during labor.

It was an old farmhouse, heated by a wood stove in the living room so we made up a birthing bed next to the stove. Baby clothes were drying on a makeshift clothes line above my head. My eldest son had just turned 7 and my daughter who was 2 1/2 was demanding full on attention. She wanted to be held, to nurse, to be comforted. I wanted attention myself and there didn't seem to be enough to go around so we decided to call our midwife to come and help us out. As we didn't have a phone, we sent my son running to the nearest neighbor's, about 1/2 mile down the road to call the midwife for us.

When N. was born, my husband reached above his head and pulled a dry baby blanket off the line to cover him. The midwife arrived after the birth. It was a cold winter and our pipes froze so we headed into Portland (City of Roses, Puddletown USA) for running water. The winter solstice and the infamous Portland Ice Storm of 1978 was in progress. We named N. after the Lord Caitainya and Lord Nityananda deities that were worshiped at the temple there.

Eight years later, my sixth baby, O. was born on his brother's birthday. Another homebirth with plans for 3 friends, all midwifes, to be present. My water had broken 3 days previous and I had filled my days with preparations for his arrival and Christmas. I spent a good portion of the longest night of that year soaking in the bathtub. By the time we called the midwives in the morning, two were able to rush over before he was born.

I pushed O. out into the world and into his father's waiting hands with four of his five siblings present. My eldest daughter, then 10, took the pictures which reflect her contempt for O.'s father--she cut him out of just about every one of the birthing pictures! Today she is a professional photographer. That night we celebrated the brothers' birthdays, one newborn, one 8 years old, with pizza, cake and sparkling cider. I called O., Little Bringer of Light as he was born the morning after the solstice and the darkest night of the year. Each day was longer and brighter for six months after he was born. I thought that was so auspicious. Of course the same was true for N. too although I didn't have much awareness of the winter solstice when he was born.

Today I'm taking O. out to lunch at the Sierra Nevada Brewery and buying him some legal alcohol. I sent a present off to N., with his sister who is in Santa Cruz visiting him for his birthday.

N. turns 29. He is the father of two beautiful children, split from their mommy right now. He's an incredible chef and a contractor, living in Santa Cruz, trying to find his way. O. turns 21 (thus the legal alcohol.) He's the baby, the only one left at home out of our 9 children and I'm in no hurry for him to fly out of the nest either. He's working and going to school, finding his way, telling me he loves me just about every day. He's a nice young man, 6'5", beautiful body and face with long flowing dark brown locks and a creative and artistic mind. I like having him around.

Happy Birthday boys. My sons.