My Amish Husband Decided How Long I Was Allowed to Grieve, He Gave Me Three Days for My Father
👉 DISCOVER THE TRUTH: racheltheamish.com The morning my father died, I was folding a cloth. It was a plain square of cotton, the kind I kept in my midwife bag for mopping brows and steadying hands. I had been awake since before three, called out to a labor that ended well, a boy born in the fourth hour of morning without complication. The mother's name was Anna Yoder, and she had seven children already, and she bore that eighth one the way she bore all the others, quiet and resolute, her jaw set, her hands gripping the iron frame of the bed. By the time I was packing my bag in her kitchen, the sun had not yet cleared the tree line. I could smell pine and wet soil through the screen. The cloth in my hand was damp. I was folding it in quarters the way I always did, out of habit, out of the need to keep my hands occupied when the body was tired but the mind would not settle. And then my brother's wagon came down the lane. He did not have to say it. I saw it in how he sat. #RachelTheAmishMidwife #AmishMidwife #AmishStories #AmishLife #AmishWomen #ExAmish #AmishSecrets #BehindThePrayerCap #PlainCommunity #AmishTruth
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