02/07/2026
Mama Bessie Washington, age 67, had delivered over 2,000 babies in rural Georgia during her forty-three years as a midwife—Black babies, white babies, rich families, poor families, anyone who needed her. On October 8, 1918, during the worst week of the Spanish Flu pandemic, Mama Bessie was desperately ill herself with the flu, running a fever of 104 degrees, barely able to stand. But at 3:00 AM, a white farmer named John Miller arrived at Mama Bessie's cabin begging for help—his wife Catherine was in labor with their first child, the labor was going badly, and the county doctor was thirty miles away dealing with flu cases. Catherine Miller was hemorrhaging, the baby was breech, both were dying. John Miller had no one else to ask. Mama Bessie looked at John's terrified face, looked at her own fever-wracked body, and made a choice. She said: "Help me to the wagon. I'm coming."
The journey to the Miller farm took forty-five minutes—forty-five minutes of Mama Bessie suffering in the back of a wagon, coughing blood from flu-damaged lungs, her body screaming for rest she couldn't give it. When they arrived, Catherine Miller was in critical condition—had been in labor for nineteen hours, was bleeding heavily, the baby positioned wrong and stuck. Mama Bessie examined Catherine, assessed the situation with decades of experience, and knew this delivery would require every skill she possessed. Mama Bessie worked for three hours—repositioning the baby, controlling the hemorrhage, coaching Catherine through contractions while Mama Bessie herself could barely breathe from flu-congested lungs. At 6:47 AM, the baby was born—a healthy girl, crying immediately. Catherine survived, exhausted but alive. Mama Bessie had saved both of them through sheer skill and determination, working while dying herself.
Mama Bessie collapsed immediately after the delivery. John Miller tried to get her to rest at his farm, but Mama Bessie insisted on going home—said she needed her own bed, her own people. John drove her back to her cabin, helped her inside, and Mama Bessie's daughter Ruth found her mother barely conscious, burning with fever, lungs rattling with fluid. Mama Bessie Washington died at 4:17 PM on October 8, 1918—nine and a half hours after delivering Catherine Miller's baby, having used the last of her strength to save a white woman and child despite being mortally ill herself. Mama Bessie's final words to her daughter were: "I delivered that baby. Mama and baby both alive. That's good. That's a good last one." Then she closed her eyes and died, age 67, her life's final act being delivery number 2,001.
The Miller family tried to attend Mama Bessie's funeral but were turned away—Black funerals in 1918 Georgia were segregated, white people weren't allowed to attend. But John Miller and Catherine Miller showed up anyway, stood at the edge of the cemetery despite hostile stares, held their newborn daughter, and bowed their heads during the service. After Mama Bessie was buried, Catherine Miller approached Ruth Washington and said: "Your mother saved my life and my daughter's life while she was dying of flu herself. She should have been resting. She should have refused to come. But she came anyway. She worked for three hours delivering my baby while she could barely breathe. Then she went home and died. My daughter is alive because Mama Bessie gave her last strength to save us. I named my daughter Bessie Catherine Miller. I will tell her every day of her life about the woman who died saving her."
Bessie Catherine Miller lived until 1999, dying at age 81. She spent her entire life telling people about Mama Bessie Washington—the Black midwife who'd delivered her while dying of Spanish Flu, who'd saved her life and her mother's life during the pandemic, who'd died the same day she was born. In 1975, Bessie Catherine (age 57) tracked down Mama Bessie's descendants and established a scholarship fund in Mama Bessie's name for Black nursing students. Bessie Catherine said: "Mama Bessie Washington died the day I was born—October 8, 1918. She was 67 years old, dying of flu, and she traveled to my mother's farm to deliver me anyway. She saved my mother's life. She saved my life. Then she went home and died. I've lived 81 years that exist only because Mama Bessie used her last hours on earth to bring me into it. Mama Bessie delivered over 2,000 babies in her lifetime. I was number 2,001. I was her last. She died so I could live. I've spent my entire life trying to honor that sacrifice."
