To Breastfeed is a Divine Act

Before getting to what I really wish to relate, I recall one of the sayings that comforted me greatly when my wife was separating from me.

Dr. Paulo Eduardo Camargos, one of the best doctors I have ever met, God holds him in His glory, in an attempt to comfort me, told me the story of a certain doctor, his friend, who had three children, two girls and a boy. One night, while returning from their rural cottage where they spent the weekend, there was an argument between the two. The husband compromised to no end to defend his convictions. The woman decided to leave him at that very moment and move to her parent’s home. The husband, who was to stay at home, gathered the children in the living room, now old enough to understand, and told them what was going on. To their disappointment, the three decided to accompany their mother. Dr. Paulo sympathized with his friend, explaining to him that the mother spends nine months alone with her little critter and in the end spends hours and hours offering her strongest and most pleasant substance, her pure and healthy mother’s milk. This is where, Doctor Paulo, his family and friend leave our discussion.

I wrote previously in another article about how I would return home crestfallen after medical examination at my urologist. Everything is okay now, but while facing such discomfiture I experienced moments of low morale. Here, I will leave yet another narrative of my sadness.

As I stood there at the bus stop, I saw two women walking in my direction; one a sassy old thing in their late forties and the other a girl of no more than twenty-one years old. While waiting for their bus, I learned, by listening in on the conversation, that they were mother and daughter. Cradled in their arms was the grandson, the son of this beautiful young lady. The two ladies, who live in a nearby slum, walk from their home to the avenue every day to take the bus. Once they arrived, the girl lifted her blouse from a car dealership uniform and began to nurse the little boy. I could not refrain from looking at the face of a happy boy. There was something magical in that relationship. With one hand she supported the head of the little child and with two fingers of her other hand, helped pump the breast milk.

The breastfeeding went on in silence as I reminisced of this mysterious mother-child relationship, this bond that nobody dares undo. Those two beings were kept in a sacred communion, in a deep and secret privilege, fully understanding each other without a word. The secret was a good one no doubt because the boy’s smile reflected the greatest purity. The mother was in control of the flowing emotions, hers and her child’s, and it seemed that together they sealed a secret agreement. I felt the touch of her son as he breastfed. She was wholly involved with her little baby at that moment and attended solely to him.

The mother retired her breast from the child who made his satisfaction be known and gathered up her bosom with the serenity and respect that the occasion demanded. The grandmother took the grandson in her arms, and unembarrassed of the half a dozen people present at the bus stop, began to lament a mother’s lament, addressing her daughter in a gentle voice, but which contained the young mother’s situation, who according to the elder parent was a life of much sacrificed in order to earn the money needed to sustain herself. The daughter seemed very simple, humble and of little words, but conveyed a strength that only mothers of the daily grind possess. It was apparent that the girl was a single mother. The discussion was tender but her grandmother insisted that her daughter live more and of better quality. The grandmother held the baby in an upright position to facilitate burping.

The daughter straightened out her company badge hanging on a loop around her neck, waved to the driver of bus number 2004 which would take her to the other side of town. The bus stopped a little farther down than it should have. As she started to run off she still remembered to say one last goodbye.

I, who was accompanying her with all my feeling and emotion, realized that my eyes had filled with tears, for as soon as the girl turned to bid farewell to the little boy and mother, I recognized in her eyes the same tears that rolled from mine.