The Afters?

This has been the hardest post to write. It’s the after, after, after post. I’ve started it and stopped it at least four times. The delivery post and Homegoing post came easily because the story was there to tell. This one is tricky. Think: “Where are you going, my beautiful friend? Is the road that you take ‘til the end?” or should I “rush for a change in atmosphere?” Bonus points to the person who knows what band sang both of those tunes.

Also, people seem to be reading this and I don’t know who they are – weird. It’s not my Mom hitting refresh over and over again because she doesn’t see it unless I print it out and put it in her mailbox. And the only time she uses the word refresh is at her house when she insists on at least “covering the ice” after you suggest to her that you don’t want a “refresher” cocktail.

It was four weeks on Saturday, Feb. 22. One month. One baby buried. One mom and dad changed forever. For starters, we don’t even look like a mom and dad because when we go on walks we don’t take a stroller. We walk slowly enough for people to think we could be pushing something, but really Kevin is gently guiding me – one step at a time – down a familiar and yet unfamiliar path. I’m being literal here. So far, we’ve slowly traced the same route around the block that I used to train for my first and only 5K – back when we were dating. I did the Couch to 5k program, ran the Firecracker 5K during which I was passed by people in wheelchairs, and ever since have enjoyed my glorious return to the couch. Did I mention we were dating then? Kevin still runs. I still cheer. It works for the me part of Kee.

I don’t mean to sound dramatic but people told us this would change us and I didn’t realize the extent until I experienced it. I’m sure I still don’t “get it” fully. The one-month expert that I am – ha – is no one you should listen to. Good thing this isn’t an expert analysis of anything. This is just my process: Life of Lee. I have to remember that as more and more people tell me things they’ve never told anyone before. Part of me wants to shout it from the rooftops because every story they share points back to God loving us first. That’s the Big Us, the whole world of Us’es. Us’es who have problems – real, hard life problems – who are depending on God 100% to get through each hour of each day. Us’es who are sick, very sick, or surprised, very surprised, or us’es who just want to ramble an hour away with another us who they think might care. It’s so much fun when lots of us’es start to come together to ask questions and open up. It’s good stuff.

Pin pricks to the heart are the work of the Holy Spirit not of man, woman or a bleeding bleary-eyed blogger. So I won’t say a word about other people’s stories. But I do talk to my Heavenly Daddy about them; we talk all the time anyway, and He would want to know we’re making new friends. And going deeper with old friends. And He’d want to know how He could help our new ‘n’ deeper friends if we told Him what they asked us for – what that one piece of candy is in their life that they wish they could have. Daddy can do anything – gladly giving it to them if He thinks they should have it. And it’s awesome to get to ask Him for it on their behalf.

And me? Lee, how is she? I just want to heal, feel and love more; hug longer; and give God credit for the good, bad and the Holy. The Holy has been all around us – more now than ever.

Kevin and I are so blessed. Physically, I am a solid A, possibly an A+ by now. Kevin, no surprise, was a phenomenal care giver – anticipating needs, making things fun, being Super K. Mentally, we are not depressed. We have God, who gave us each other, and to each other we certainly cling. Sure, fear raises its ugly serpent-like head, and we take turns crushing it for each other. Friends and family continue to reach out. I can see how it could be an overwhelmingly sad time as the new, new normal begins to require us to re-enter the Outside World. And it has sad moments, but they’re not overwhelming. The blessings bust through the bizarre.    

The last bunch of flowers has been tossed out. The dining room table is back to its normal décor. I don’t see the table as empty now – I see it as an organized spot for Kevin to do his job hunting work. The guest room is a place for friends to come visit us. Our next scheduled guest arrives in May – for Beale Street Music Fest – keeping a decade-long tradition alive for one of Kevin’s lifelong friends. Even the big cardboard box that Kevin’s work things were put in that weird Friday afternoon his position was terminated – that box became the box we put cards into as they arrived – dozens each day. It could have been a sad box with a bad purpose, but it was transformed into a box that literally held love – and it literally overflowed with goodness.

It’s kind of like how God takes our busted bodies and sinful hearts, and fills us with His love once we are open to it. It’s a transformation too. A rebirth within the same shell, the same exterior, but what goes inside of it is wildly different. The heart changes, the purpose changes, and the love can’t help but spill out.

Speaking of spilling out, wow does the New Mom Manual need something about accepting your new body. I don’t know a solitary woman on the planet who likes everything about how she looks at ANY time in her life. But sink that woman in a bathtub one month after having a baby and it’s a good time to mention that God made your body, too. I think the first couple of weeks I was so involved in keeping things functioning that I failed to see how turquoise, purple and southward I had become. I have zero interest in entering a Stay Puff Marshmallow Man Contest; therefore, I have zero interest in this new look. Then there’s the feeling that you still have leggings to take off when you aren’t wearing leggings. In other words, no thank you. In other – other – words, I just realized where all those wonderful sugars ended up. They (once again literally) stuck around. I wish I could sweat it off. Exercise people probably would say you can, but I like the Facebook forward going around last week that said, “The only time we want to hear about your workout is if you fall off the treadmill.”

Only God could make me not hate my new body – head to toe. For example, I choose to view the sunspots that now dot my face as kisses from Gabriel – not as flaws that pounds of make-up wouldn’t cover.  I can see how post-partum depression is a very real thing for some moms for a ton – ha! – of reasons. I am so thankful I’m not that kind of sad. I look to the eternal not the external for relief. Thank you, Jesus.

Plus, this isn’t the end. With time, I can work on my physical condition and I eagerly await to see how I will try to shape it – and how God will choose to shape me. No, child, it’s not The End – only the beginning! Each day is a new mercy with lots of new moments to see joy.

Mercies are everywhere when you know, and slow, to see them. We’ve had some seriously varying weather in the last four weeks in Memphis. A lot of my friends have that seasonal winter depression, which must be a major bummer. We haven’t had that either. Grace.

Each snowflake is God’s blanket of peace and with each rain He hydrates our souls, our earth, washing us clean. Each sunbeam is prepping the plants for production – as well as beckoning me into the backyard to sip a beer with my beloved. (By the way, the New Mom Manual must have a chapter on drinking and it should note:  1/3 of a beer equals one gin and tonic and guarantees a pre-dinner nap. Bye-bye, tolerance. Bye-bye.) We even had a 15-minute tornado warning the other day. There’s beauty in the whirly mystery.

Another new gift arrived in the form of a poem that Bonus Dad wrote about Gabriel. It’s so beautiful, perfect and full of love. I love him and Bonus Mom to pieces – and to peace(s). He gave it to us exactly one week after we delivered Gabriel – about the same time we were being admitted to the hospital. We love it. And I cherish that timing. Here it is:

Little Angel Gabriel

Dear little Gabriel

You had something to say

You came with a message

To show us the way

We heard your message

It was loud and clear

Conveyed by your mother

In words so sincere

She told of your journey,

Your struggles, your story

She said you were here

To prove God’s greater glory

I had my doubts

I don’t mind saying

But I found myself

Wishing and praying

With hundreds of others

We prayed into the night

To ease mom and dad’s pain

And make you alright

Our prayers have been answered

You’re in heaven and whole

Mom and dad’s lives are enriched

With your dear little soul

You are with people

That we on earth know

They will love you and hug you

And help you to grow

Play and get strong

Enjoy heaven above

We’ll all be there soon

To fill you with love

Love, PopPop

The fact that Bonus Dad, aka PopPop, sent us this wonderful poem is simply awesome. People misuse the word awesome all the time. But it fits here: we were full of awe. It was awesome.

If there’s nothing better than fresh love from a loved one, then there’s nothing more surprising than love from strangers, capturing our hearts – from all corners of the globe. (Not really, it was really only from all over the country. That is a clue to jog your memory about the earlier musical reference. If you didn’t listen to borrowed mixed tapes in the mid-‘90s, you probably won’t get it. And that’s OK. You are probably normal, and again, that’s OK.)

Anonymous snippets include lots and lots of mothers who’ve lost children as many as 40 years ago – some who had never mentioned it. Miscarriages, still births, live births with short life spans – we’ve received words, calls, private messages, hand written notes about them all.

Right down to a mother who gave birth to her child Jan. 20, at 33 weeks. Her baby lived for 45 minutes before meeting Jesus. They had a service for their little girl on Sunday, Jan. 26 – the morning after our Gabriel met Jesus. This is a friend of a friend. We once sat at our mutual friend’s wedding table together. Our mutual friend thought we’d have a lot in common. Years later, and we have this in common?! And both families feel blessed for the blessing? Full of awe, again.

We are not alone; neither is Gabriel. We have Christian support on earth, and Gabriel already has a friend to play with in heaven! Yay! Every mom wants her child to have a playground buddy on the very first day of school. It’s kind of like that except so much better! The mother, who also was blessed with advanced notice that her baby girl would likely not live outside her womb, simply stated, “Without God’s peace, we would all be lost.”

A different correspondence – again from a friend of a friend – said, “I am that person she spoke of … the one she doesn’t know. By some miracle …” and then she shared her story. Another friend, “I experienced a similar situation.” I won’t tell you their stories – I want to build up trust, not jeopardize it. But, over and over and over and over and day after day after day, we’ve gotten more reinforcement, more love, more grace in the moment. Thank you, Heavenly Daddy and earthly daddies, and Super Kevin, father of our baby boy – for giving us so much pure joy and love in our hearts.  And thank you to all the mommies who have shared pain, shared healing, shared reaching for – leaning into – the one Redeemer. Remember that part of “While You Were Sleeping” where Sandra Bullock and her crush Bill Pullman are talking about body language and intentions? Paraphrase: “He’s leaning. I know he likes you because he’s leaning.”

No limits. Lean on. And lead on, Oh Lord!

“He is your praise. He is your God who has done for you these great and terrifying things that your eyes have seen.” – Deuteronomy 10:21