No way; no how

Where to start? Dorothy was baptized in a beautiful service in September. It meant the world to us.  It was such a high having friends and family from near and far honor God with us and pledge to raise her as best we can to know the Lord our God. My friend, Christian, made Dorothy’s gown from lace she had used in Gabriel’s day gown he was buried in. So special. We celebrated God’s covenant relationship with us. She turned six months old on the 29^th of October. We celebrated.

Then two days later, I cried so hard at a friend’s father's visitation that I couldn’t stay for the funeral. I spoke to my friend, her husband, and her newly widowed mother, and then the thought of her father running into Gabriel in heaven stopped me in my tracks. It made me seek out the nearest bathroom for tissues, then the closest exit to escape because I couldn’t control my crying. That’s not helpful to anyone.

Her family held it together, and I couldn’t. I wanted my boy. I knew I couldn’t have that, so I wanted to tell the widow that her husband raised incredible kids and that, if it wasn’t too much trouble, I’d appreciate it if he’d check in on my son every now and then to make sure he’s OK. You can’t say that. You can’t say that to anyone.

I’ve been to one funeral and three visitations since Gabriel met Jesus. I’m not good at them because heaven is real.  I have yet to participate in one without a full-sized sob fest in the car afterward. It’s the same thing every time:  those departed Christians might happen to run into Gabriel at the feet of Jesus and that makes me miss him with an unbearable freshness. I’m jealous of dead people – spoken in my best creepy kid voice from the movie The Sixth Sense…. What?  Not really, of course, but it’s because I know death isn’t the end of life for Christians. It’s the beginning of an eternity of bliss and wholeness.

Lord Jesus, come quickly! I mean it when I say that would fix everything. Everything.

I have never had a suicidal thought, and I never will. I believe in God’s timeline for everyone’s life, and I am on board with His protection and plan for me.  (Growing up, my dad, who influenced me in more ways than I can count, fairly often would say, “If you ever find me dead and they say it’s suicide, you check it out.  You check everything out because it’s a set up. That would never happen. No way; no how. You check it out and keep checking it out until you find out who did it.” Strange to hear as a young child – Dad has zero enemies, of course, but comforting to know he was solid and would always be there for me if it was left up to him. We talked about everything at seemingly age appropriate times so this wasn’t earth-shattering to me.)

Today marks two years since Gabriel’s fatal diagnosis was confirmed by the specialist.  Two years since a friend sent me a text of John 14:27 that read: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” I try to cling to that promise every day. Sometimes I pray it back to God. I think He probably likes hearing His words spoken back to Him. A wise woman once told me that, and I like the notion.

Contrast that with the joy I feel in virtually every minute with Dorothy. Her smiles, her eyes, her focus, her snuggles, her squeals, her frog hops, her innocent dependence.  She is the best baby. We have so much fun together. She’s THAT good.

The greater the sorrow you experience, the deeper the capacity for joy – raw joy and raw pain. That won’t make sense unless you’ve known great sorrow. It makes the little things that trip people up – make them complain – it makes those things evaporate. It doesn’t make me a nice person all the time, but it does make me cut some slack to the idiots in the world who honestly don’t know any better. They probably don’t know God and they probably don’t know loss, so they don’t know not to sweat the small stuff.

What is the small stuff?

Turns out it’s almost everything. It’s where your kid goes to school: small. (Took me a long time to realize that one. And I still struggle with it.) It’s how much money you make: small.  It’s where you live or don’t live: small. It’s whether you dress well or don’t: small. It’s ALL small stuff. If you wake up in the morning, you praise God for that moment – that day in all its messy imperfection. I’m not saying don’t save for a good school, or care how you invest your time and energy – God gave us brains to use them – but to worry or dread or fear for the future is a total waste of time, and it’s disrespectful to the One who created time. It also robs you of your potential to find the joy within today. The things happening in front of you that deserve your attention. 

So what’s big? I believe the most important thing you can do for your child is teach them to have a heart for the Lord. Let them know there is someone they can count on and that they are not alone in this world. Give them God. The rest will work itself out.  Kevin and I just read Meg Meeker’s book “Strong Fathers, Strong Daughters,” and it is a must read if you have a daughter of any age.

So I stay at home with my little one. I hold her tight. I read her “The Jesus Storybook Bible” aloud; we’ve made it through four or five times now. I thank God for Kevin and his good health and Dorothy’s good health and my good health. I thank him all the time. I thank him for Gabriel. I leak tears randomly; I rebuke the Devil; and I praise my Heavenly Daddy.  I strive to be more present in the present. (I even went back in time, technology-wise and got a flip phone so Dorothy will know I am interested in her, not the Internet.)

Some days after Dorothy’s baptism I was driving down Yates in no particular hurry, so I pulled into Memorial Park to visit Gabriel’s grave on a pleasant fall day. I never plan to visit but when I’m in the area I stop by from time to time. After that I was driving home on Walnut Grove, and it started to rain. The sun still beamed brightly but it also was 100% raining. For me, that’s how joy and grief live together in the same heart. That’s what my Heavenly Daddy chose for me before the beginning of time and I embrace it. I practice living with it. I learn how to say things to strangers without crying just like I did today while out with my parents. “She’s my second child. Her big brother is in heaven, and we’re excited she’s hanging out with us here on earth. We are incredibly thankful.”

Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful.  – Hebrews 10:23

Windows and Wonder - Dorothy Ruth Holt

It’s surreal to be writing this. I started this blog to heal, to remember and to satisfy curiosity so I wouldn’t have to tell the same story of sadness, pain and hope over and over again. And now this post, this post, only contains joy, fullness, and hope affirmed over and over again. Crazy. But our Heavenly Daddy’s plan is crazy. And full of wonder and awe.

Dorothy Ruth Holt arrived April 29, 2015 weighing 7 pounds 2 ounces and stretching 20.75 inches. It was 12:52 pm. Our doctor said she’d arrive during his lunch break and he was right. We induced a little after 39 weeks at his recommendation.

She arrived healthy. I wept. I had a smile on my face while I wept but the tears leaked out all the same. Labor was great – only 35 minutes of pushing – thanks to the inducement and the epidural and our doctor’s experience and expertise. I thought of Gabriel so much during the hours beforehand. Last time, we didn’t monitor Gabe’s heartbeat audibly because no one wanted me to hear at what point it stopped during his delivery. This time we heard and tracked Dorothy’s heartbeat. A couple times during the inducement, her heart rate dropped, and the nurse put me on oxygen. I concentrated on breathing and staying calm, and I had Kevin monitor the monitor – ha – the actual radar thing that showed the number of beats per minute her tiny heart was making. At one point, very close to the actual labor part, her heart rate plummeted and I hit the emergency nurse call button. I began shaking uncontrollably – very appropriate since I had no control over anything. We never have control over anything. We just have the illusion of control brought on by our worldly assumptions, the can-do attitude our loved ones instill us with, and the self-sustaining mentality we possess as the species at the top of the food chain. It’s not our fault; it’s how we’re wired.  We just have to be aware of it and give credit – control – where it’s due. (Hint: it’s not us.)

She was fine. Healthy babies always take a dive in heart rate right before the actual pushing begins. My friend, Christian, had told me that and my brain knew it but my fearful heart couldn’t stop my one-person earthquake. I was holding the side railing of the hospital bed to try to steady myself. I had to be on my side because the epidural was causing more numbness in one side than the other side so they wanted to even things out. And somehow the side position also got more oxygen to little girl and therefore regulated her heartbeat better. I have no idea. Again, I was the lab rat, everyone else was the expert. Kevin was the rock of strength, love and support – as always.

So she arrived. Dorothy Ruth Holt. Kevin cut the cord. She came out “clean” and our doctor said he couldn’t do his normal joke: “She must be a Packers fan because of all that cheese.” (This reveals a HUGE clue as to our doctor’s identity because he is a HUGE Green Bay Packers fan.)

She is named Dorothy for Kevin’s grandmother, who will be 99 in July. As you know, she is sharp as a tack. After Christmas dinner this year, Kevin gave her a picture frame when all the Holts and Bonus Sister’s family were gathered together. The frame read: 

A Tale of Two Dorothy Holts

May our baby girl have your generous heart, contagious optimism and enthusiasm for life. We honor you. Pray she grows into a woman who is like you in every way! We love you! Love, Kevin & Lee * Christmas 2014

We captured it on video. Grandmum cried. It was so sweet. We can’t wait for them to meet in person!

At a shower in New Jersey, Bonus Sister told me the origin of the name Dorothy. It’s Greek and means “gift from God.” Appropriate. God has such a sense of humor and purpose. She is a gift from our Heavenly Daddy. So was Gabriel. It’s in Psalm 139 which is SO APPLICABLE TO OUR DAILY LIVES I CAN’T HELP BUT USE COMPUTER YELLING TO SAY IT. Sorry. Not sorry. Look it up. Hug it. Love it. Dorothy does not and will not and cannot replace Gabriel. She is unique. He is unique. We will see them both in heaven for all eternity. Thank you Heavenly Daddy for that promise.

Her middle name is Ruth. It’s more Biblical than family related. Ruth was a woman of extreme loyalty and conviction and strength – all traits we pray our sweet girl possesses. There’s so much I could say about the hospital stay, the beautiful insanity of breastfeeding, the depth of love you find in a newborn’s eyes. And more. And more. Instead I will say that God worked on my pride in a big way those first two weeks.

She wouldn’t latch. Every seven or so hours we’d have a new nurse offer the ONLY way to be successful and it wouldn’t work. Shift change: miracle promised. No dice. Shift change. Definitely do this. Definitely do NOT do that exact same thing. Just quit. Here’s some free stuff. Just quit. Never quit. Quitting is the same thing as giving your child obesity, cancer and allergies all at once. But first she’ll probably dehydrate and you’ll have to put her back in the hospital. What? Um, the real miracle is that my blood pressure didn’t go up with all the well meaning helpers hovering. And then there was the one who didn’t speak English clearly. She ended up being my favorite because you can say more through quiet compassion than you can using words. She was the best. For real. Shift change.

(Side note: I also missed Gabriel SO MUCH during that post-delivery hospital stay. The physical pain reminded me of him so much because that’s the same pain I experienced with him. This time I had a beautiful, bright-eyed, alert, awe-inspiring little girl in my arms but – but – the pain was what I knew of Gabe. And oh how I missed him. Oh, how I wondered what his face would have looked like on earth. Would he have Dorothy’s lips? Or eyes? Or size? I know his hair was a similar color because I have his lock of love tucked safely away at home. But the rest I won’t know from this side of  heaven. One day, I will.) 

We made it home. My parents had stocked our home with food, flowers, and every imaginable practical aid. My Bonus Mom had made sure we got a pump – something I was sure I wouldn’t really need. “Wrong-o round eyes” as my father used to always tell me. He also used to say, “You’re entitled to your own ridiculous opinion.” Yep. I needed the pump. So grateful Bonus Mom got it for us.

For the first two weeks, I pumped and fed her through a syringe and a guard. Girl friends were – and continue to be – awesome in their help, food, guidance, wisdom, compassion and love. There’s also a TN breastfeeding hotline available 24/7 that I called three times. Those folks literally saved me mere hours before some ignorant decisions on my part would have made the journey so much harder to take.  Pride, pride, pride – there it goes. My prayer quickly changed from “I’d like X, Y and Z to happen” to “Whatever you want, Lord; let it happen. Give me guidance. Give me guidance. Seriously, just tell me what to do. Make it so clear because I’m toast without your direction.” 

Mastitis. I had it for three days before I called my doctor because the internet said wait for flu-like symptoms. Well, I’ve never had the flu so I thought chills, night sweats and extreme exhaustion were a normal part of having a newborn. Then day four, the body (I can no longer call it my body, it’s just the body) turned against me and told me it was past time to call the doctor. Mommy-to-be readers, call me with ANY questions. ANY questions. Experience is the only way to, well, experience this and you can avoid painful (I mean literally intensely painful) mistakes by asking questions.

Breastfeeding can be sweet when it works. But it takes time to work. Conversely, women who choose not to feed that way shouldn’t be called quitters. They should be called “doers of what’s best for their baby” either to reduce depression (baby blues) or be able to nourish their baby (low supply) or whatever else unpredictable occurs. I was fortunate not to run into those things (72 5 oz bags tumble around in our freezer), but I want any formula mama out there to know that I’m not judging. No one but the mom can decide what works for her baby. Nuff said.

Somehow another two weeks went by. Dorothy is a rock star at being a baby. She sleeps 6-7 hours at night, nurses every 4 or so hours during the day, doesn’t fuss, and is simply precious. She is a good baby. She loves her Daddy. Kevin is the BEST father on the planet. He’s kept the house together, me together, real estate together and still finds time to play the piano for his new girl. He is smitten. He covers her in kisses. He is the best swaddle-er. He is the best. We knew that but it’s so fun to see him with his arms full of fresh love. If she is in the Guinness Book of World Records for Earliest Smile, it will be because of the gigantic smile she gets from her Daddy every second he is around her. Love, love, love, love, love watching their relationship flourish and unfold.

Thank you to everyone who brought food, words of encouragement, and prayers. Prayers and prayers. Thank you, thank you. My world works in windows now, as I call the hours between feedings. The windows are often short but we’re establishing a decent pattern, it seems. I know that could all change in an instant as she grows in spurts and stuff. I’ll say “and stuff” so this post won’t haunt me when things change drastically. The other thing that’s changed is my complete inability to respond to people in a timely manner. I used to be Lightning Lee and now I have one priority in life – family. That’s God first, then Kevin, then Dorothy. Dorothy is a full-time, round-the-clock commitment, which means I have to make extra sure to pray first (ie talk to God constantly) and make a cognizant decision and concerted effort to keep Kevin my first (earthly) priority. After all, Kevin is the reason I wanted children, and he’s the glue in our collage of craziness.

It took me a month plus to be able to write this. It took 45 minutes once I had the 45 minutes it required, but it took a month to get the time to write it. So if you text and I don’t answer quickly, we are still friends. You just have to wait for a window. Know that I’m nursing and praying and praising the Lord – for Gabriel and Dorothy and Kevin and our extended family and our friends and everyone else we love and know.

I can never be short-winded with these things. But I just want to remember. I want to always remember. Also, as my Heavenly Daddy continues to draw me closer to Him, I see this verse in a whole new light now. Could you willingly, purposefully give up something you love for the sake of others? Not just some THING but someone? Not just someone but your only child? Soak it in. Soak it in like Epsom salt. Then keep asking questions if you don’t get it because this – this, my friends – is the every thing in everything – the beginning and the end – He is the I AM.

For God so loved the world that he gave his only son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but shall have eternal life. – John 3:16

The Greatest Love

Love:  it’s more than donuts and bacon, although – in my experience – those tend to play a role in every successful marriage. Love is putting the other person first. That’s what God did when he sent His only son to die for our sins and grant us grace-filled eternal life. It’s such a radical thing to say. But if you look into it and believe it, you can bet your life on it. God possesses the greatest love possible. Period. God IS love. One day when Christ returns and the new heavens and new earth are created “all sad things will be untrue.” I don’t remember who said that, but I love it. I cradle that thought more carefully than I do the last crumb of donut.

I felt like I should do an update, so what better time than Valentine’s Day? January came and went –  hard. We embraced, honored and cried through Gabriel’s first anniversary in heaven, his birthday, his Glory Day on Jan. 25, a Sunday. It was so hard. Harder than I had imagined it would be. But we were dearly loved that day too. A friend brought us a good pound of bacon and homemade pimento cheese. Kevin and I visited Gabriel’s grave to see that he has a new “neighbor” – so new that the bunny placed atop the tiny rectangle of fresh dirt hadn’t been rained on yet, and it was definitely going to rain that dreary day. We went to church. I did the ugly cry during the sermon and left before Sunday school class. Two Spirit-filled friends caught up with me when I tried to sneak out during the final hymn. Two hugs later, I was better although far from composed. Hugs mean so much. I’ve said it a thousand times, but words aren’t important – making the effort to be present with someone is. The people who remembered that day and weekend mean everything to us.

We are less than 12 weeks from our due date with Baby Girl Holt. My nesting is in full flutter. I’m not used to my healthily expanding belly and keep running into things. Sometimes it looks more like leaning into things, really, things like doors, because my balance is a little off. I’m now the person that gets a polite tap on the shoulder at parties when people want to pass a narrow space that I’m unaware I’m blocking. It used to be people would squeeze by or I’d instinctively move out of the way. Now I am a construction zone, and people slow down and proceed with caution.

I’m happy; I’m sad. I miss Gabriel. I cherish the current health of our baby girl. Kevin is wonderful. He cooks a lot more, and I eat a lot more. Everything is working. Every part of me is clinging to the gospel truth especially when I get afraid. Happy Valentine’s Day to everyone – not because we love each other – or the one you’re with – but because He loved us first, best, and always. Thank you, Lord, for loving us enough to give us your Word, your Son, and hope. Precious things are these.

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Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love. In this the love of God was made manifest among us, that God sent his only Son into the world, so that we might live through him. In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins. – 1 John 4:7-10