In the therapy room, we often speak about holding space. Typically, it describes the sacred act of a clinician supporting a client through grief, trauma, or transition.
But this February, as we awaited the birth of my grandson, Moses, I witnessed something far larger. I watched the universe—and our ancestors—hold space for our family in a way I could never have orchestrated.
A Valentine’s Delivery of a Different Kind
The week Moses was born began with an unexpected phone call.
My father, David Shepherd, had donated his body to the UNC Chapel Hill School of Medicine as a “Silent Teacher.” We were told his return could take years. Instead, on February 13—Moses’ original due date—I received word that he was coming home.
On Valentine’s Day, I tracked his journey from Carrboro to our front door in Belmont. As I prepared my mother’s favorite lasagna, my father arrived in a dignified gray velvet bag. My mother, wearing a shirt that simply read LOVE, stood in reverent silence.
Our teacher was home on the day of love—just in time for the next lesson to begin.
Room 1505: A Gathering of Ancestors
Less than twenty-four hours after my father’s return, the call came: it was time for Moses.
Inside the maternity room, the atmosphere carried more than medical anticipation. There was a sense of layered presence—physical and spiritual support converging in one sacred space.
The Advocacy of Maria: Our nurse, Maria—a Black woman whose steady attunement and calm authority anchored the room when my daughter Makensie’s blood pressure became unstable. She embodied the kind of support every mother deserves.
The Spirit of Mamie: Hanging in the window was a photo of my son-in-law’s grandmother, Mamie, who had passed in December. Positioned in the light, she seemed to watch over the room—a silent guardian welcoming her newest great-grandson.
The Poppy Pod Painting: On the wall hung an image of poppy seed pods—the vessels of potential. It felt symbolic: one pod had dried and released its wisdom; a new seed was about to bloom.
The Circle of Delivery
There is a profound tenderness in the timing.
My father was delivered back to us on Valentine’s Day so that, mysteriously, he could be present when Moses was delivered into our arms on February 15.
The hospital monitor displayed the words STAND BY. As I looked around that room, I realized we were all standing by—the living, the ancestors, and the devoted medical staff.
In counseling, we talk about continuity—how grief and joy can coexist. How endings and beginnings often overlap. How love does not disappear; it transforms.
At Shepherd Way Counseling, we honor these cycles. We understand that legacy, loss, and new life are intertwined. Whether you are grieving a “Silent Teacher” or welcoming a new “Moses,” you do not have to walk the path alone.
We are here to stand by you.
Welcome to the world, Mo Shep.
Your garden is well-tended.
