Fun, fearless, oozy, and sticky.

You just gotta love a good save on a sign. Oh yeah, baby.

There are these two women I know named Katie B. and Carol R. And both of them are what the Grady elders would call "just good folks." And me? I'd agree with that and also just say that both of them are just amazing. Amazing in the sense that they both have that rare gift of genuine selflessness. The kind that gives behind scenes but always makes others feel important right out in the open. And this? It's a quality I strive to have but that, admittedly, does not seem to come as natural to me as it does to them.

I first met them both at what was originally Isaiah's school. Katie out front directing traffic and children and keeping the peace in her Katie way and then later Carol when the heavens opened up and made her Isaiah's teacher. And sure, I've met many, many wonderful people through the boys' schools, but I admit that these two just sort of had this lingering effect on me that made me want to keep them in my pocket for good. And you know? They've allowed me to do just that.

So before I tell you about what I did with them this weekend, I will first just need to tell you a little more of what makes them special. And that list is long so I will have to give my own Cliff Notes version. They are so good at noticing others that I want to do the same for them.

Yeah.

Okay, so Carol. She has known joy and pain. And I also know that she has known sunshine and rain. That I know for sure.  And what I will say without saying too much is that she knows first hand that extreme and unnatural pain known only by people like my parents and others who have lived through the unspeakable. But despite the pain and the rain, the joy and sunshine are what always seem to ooze out of her. And like all things that ooze . . . her oozy joy sticks to other things and people and is hard to get off of you once it gets on you. She is one of the people (besides my sweet Sissy Deanna) who taught me to (try to) lighten up more when it came to my children, especially Isaiah,  and to enjoy them more. As a teacher, she has always been honest about every aspect of who my kids are, but supportive in this way that reminds me not to sweat the small stuff. And damn I've appreciated that. Damn, I have.

You know? I loved her immediately after meeting her. I mean that. Like, she looked at me and Isaiah on that first day and shook our hands and her oozy-sticky-joy just stuck to us. And you know? Even my son Isaiah knew what an amazing teacher he had in her because one day--not even six months ago and more than two years after being in her class--he was thinking about the days that he gave her a hard time. And you know? That boy started crying. With the most serious face ever he told me, "Mom, she was so, so good to me. She was so, so kind every day and sometimes, Mom, I wasn't so kind back." And he started crying these big, fat, wet tears when he said it and I didn't even stop him because she was kind to him. And I think her kindness is what was making him cry. At least that's the effect kindness always has on me.

Anyways. That Carol R. is superkind and amazing. And just "good folks."

Then there is Katie (also known on this blog as Coach B.) Oh Katie. Whenever I think of her I think of those awards given out in like, I think, Glamour or Cosmo or one of those popular womens' magazines to a small group of "FUN, FEARLESS FEMALES."  Because even if she never goes near those magazines, she is certainly that. Fun and majorly fearless. At least, that's how she seems to me.

So I came to know Katie initially as an acquaintance in the carpool lane. Our relationship was limited to hand waves and big smiles and that was that. So really, then, I didn't know her. But when Zachary started school, he attended afterschool care there since Isaiah's aftercare wouldn't take pre-K kids. Which, yes, I'm crazy for doing but yes, that year I picked up my boys from separate places even though they attended the same school.

Uhhh, yeah.

But it was a godsend that Zachary had to go there because Katie was there. And not only Katie--Carol, too. They actually run the afterschool program so this gave me a chance to get to know both of them a little better. But there was something about those moments with Katie that I will always remember. We'd chat for a few moments as I waited on Zach and they would always be so rich and special. It was then that I learned of her daughter (a Grady nurse!) and her engagement to a very, very special and good man and also that I heard all the details of the greatly anticipated arrival of her first grandchild. And every time she shared on her family her entire face lit up in this way that made me feel like I knew them. Or at least that made me want to know them.

I've mentioned it before but will mention it again--one day I got stuck in some hellacious traffic on the way to pick up the boys. And I was literally almost a half of an hour late. Now. If you know anything about childcare you know that for every minute you are late, it's usually like fifty trillion dollars. And you get this hairy eyeball to boot. I guess I don't blame them since the folks who run childcare places have lives, too, and they need to make the punishment grave enough to get parents hustling.

Yeah.

So anyways. I was so, so mortified. I was. I kept calling the centers and letting them know I was running late and going as fast as I could but half of the time the phones went to voicemail or someone just answered and said, "Okay. Got it." Which, to me, was code for "Just come on already." So finally, finally, finally I pull up to the barren driveway where all the parents and employees have since come and gone. I tear into the building huffing and puffing and feeling like the worst mom ever. And what do I see? Katie. Calmly sitting on a chair next to my baby boy reading him a book. And reading in this soothing voice that was the antithesis of me and my frantic phonecall apologies.

"I'm so, so, so, so sorry!!!!" I panted. And then I started sifting into my purse to pay for the overage right then and there.

Katie looked up--still so calm and kind--and smiled. This warm, gentle smile that literally spoke to me without words. Her expression said, "Peace be still." Or "Namaste." Or something. Either way I immediately felt less anxious. I did. But the best part was that my child did, too.

Sigh.

And can I just say that I wanted to cry at that moment? I mean, I did. And you know? I have. I've reflected on that moment so many times and quietly wept. Really for the same reasons Isaiah was crying when thinking about Carol R. and how sweet she always has been to him no matter what. The kindness. That kind of kindness just gets you in the heart and makes you cry.

Yeah.

Do you know she wouldn't accept my money? Coach B. saw how freaked out I was and told me to take a deep breath and that all was well. And I hugged her neck tight and vowed to myself to never, ever forget how much I appreciated her making up her mind to be so kind to me that day. And every day. Because she was kind and is kind to me and my kids without fail each time.

Good folks, man.

Oh! And Katie is totally Team S.J.G.R. all the way and even ran the half marathon on Thanksgiving with us. Yes! She kept reminding us that she is "a lot older" than us even though we'd all kill for her legs. Hello? So yes, she was out there running strong with that same warm smile of hers. And that was super awesome, too.

Yeah. So that's them. And yes, there is a lot more to them but this would be longer than it already is. So I will limit it there.

 And now, this.

This weekend. Yes, on Saturday. We joined them at the Men's Shelter that Katie directs (yes, directs!) for the annual Christmas dinner. All of the kids in Carol's class (Zachary has her this year--yay!) and a few others who have stayed in her oozy-sticky grasp decorated and then served a fine meal to the men. And thanks to Katie and Carol and a host of others, the men were given some other things that will surely make their lives a little easier if only for a few days.

Oh and before I even say one more word: Here is where you can find Katie's awesome blog "A View from the Sidewalk: Concrete Reflections" about her experiences at the Men's Shelter. So please--check it out.

Where was I. Oh. The evening. Saturday. At the Men's Shelter.  Yes!

Yeah, man.

It was a magical evening. It was magical because of the truly amazing wonder powers of Katie and Carol and how they've taught scores and scores of children how not to be afraid of regular people. See, it isn't set up in the way where the kids and volunteers are on one side and the gentlemen on the other. No. Everyone was intermingled and chatting and laughing. The men even sang carols and the kids just twirled and danced right along with them. Sure did.

Oh! Katie arranged for Santa Claus to come which was a HUGE hit with all except the Manning boys. Uggh. Those boys seem to take great issue with imposter Santas. Mmm hmmm.

 

Here's what was going on behind the scenes with the Manning boys when Santa walked in and as all the *other* kids were stampeding him.

Me:  "Hey boys! Do you want to go and say hi to Santa?"

Zachary:  (twists face so hard in the such a bitter-beer expression that his left eye winks shut) "Maaaaaaan. That's totally not even the real Santa. So totally not even."

Me: "Zachary! Duh. It's his representative."

Zachary:  "That's what you say every year. But I don't want to talk to the fake Santa. Or his 'presentative."

Me:  "But he talks to the real Santa. Like directly."

Zachary:  *twists face up again and then sucks teeth. Then walks away.* 

Me:  *looking around for the other child* "Isaiah! What about you? Do you want to go over and see Santa?"

Isaiah:  "Um, no thanks. I'm pretty certain that's not the actual Santa. This is a very, very busy time for the real Santa and I'm sure he wouldn't be here. Not now he wouldn't. That's just a man who dressed like Santa. And don't say it's his representative. Because I don't believe in Santa representatives." 

Me:  "What about a helper?"

Isaiah:  "Uhhh, yeah right, Mom. That's just a dude with a beard. But I like that he has that real beard. It's not the kind people just put on so that's cool. Do you think he grows it just for Christmas? Or does he keep it in the summer, too."

Me:  *sigh*

See? As far as my kids are concerned, they absolutely still believe in REAL Santa. But the mall Santa and the shelter Santa representatives? Fuggeddaboudit. The Manning boys say they can kick rocks. Ha ha ha. I'm sorry, y'all.

And you must admit that it doesn't get any better than this Santa. Hell, I wanted to run over and hug him. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure that I did.

What else? Oh! The BHE was there and so was Grandma Shugsie. Carol asked the BHE to man the fort at the downstairs front entrance where they issued the gifts and admitted folks. And I tell you it was a perfect job for him. You had to be tough and have a perfect hairy eyeball to unleash when necessary. Oh, and don't get it twisted. That fun, fearless Katie is TOUGH, TOUGH, TOUGH and if she hadn't been keeping things flowing with Carol, she'd have been down there herself.

Which reminds me: Now I see what makes her daughter Jessie such a perfect Grady nurse. That toughness is definitely in the DNA. Ha.

Oh and guess what else? And on top of all of this, my sis-in-law Fran was there with three of the four Draper kids which made this totally awesome-er. In her very Fran way, she was working hard, hard, hard the whole time.  I also  loved that my big ol' varsity baseball playing nephew David was right there, too. Awesome, awesome, awesome.

See? And I really think all of these people came as much to serve as they did out of their love for Katie and Carol. Those two truly amazing women who have already chosen to shape lives as educators and who on top of all of that give of their time and effort at this shelter long after the Christmas bells stop ringing and it's no longer sexy to be there.

Yes. I said "sexy."

So I'm rambling, I know. But really the point is just that I am so much better for knowing these two women. And their kindness not only to me but to my family and so many others is just something to ramble about. It is. And it might sound weird to say this but I feel very proud to be a part of their lives. I do.

So today I am reflecting on Katie and Carol. Two completely different women who have uniquely touched my life. And especially during the most wonderful time of the year I want to package up my appreciation in the form of this blog post to tell them so.

Katie -- thank you for your fun and fearless example. You rock. You do. And Carol -- thank you for your oozy-sticky web of goodness and joy. I will always remember -- even when it seems like I don't  -- the many legitimate reasons you could use to hang your head and  not spread your joy the way you do.

You women? You're just truly amazing and especially you're just good folks. And to quote the Grady elders once more, I'll say what I could have said in far less words:

'Preciate you.

Yeah.

***
Happy Monday. And here is another shameless plug to link to Katie's blog in case you missed it earlier. . . . plus an image of what happens at the Mens' Shelter after the party and every night thanks to people like them.

Here's a couple of old posts that include these two truly amazing women and also one with another year we went to the shelter.  Hope you enjoy these as much as I enjoyed revisiting them.

Little shifts: The post when I realized how much I'd miss seeing Katie (aka Coach B.) after we stopped attending the school-based aftercare. And when I remembered how gracious she was that day I was late.

Twelve steps: The post after Carol helped me to learn to enjoy my child instead of worrying so much.

Stuff:  One of my favorites, actually. This is the post from the first time we came to the Men's Shelter with Carol and Katie.

And bonus: The post with my kids last year with the Mall Santa. This post made me LOL today!

Thanks to you.

My elementary school, Inglewood, California.

She had a burning desire to go far,
And she had lively hopes 
of reaching every star
One day she'd leave this place,
But never forget her people's face
And when she found her dreams,
She'd come back and proclaim:
 

Baby, you will rise
Limit is the skies
Don't you let nobody fill 
your head up with their lies
Baby, you will rise
Never compromise
Milk and honey's waitin' for you 

on the other side
 
You will rise....

~ Amel Larrieux with Sweetback

_____________________________________

 It's amazing how great of an impact people and experiences can have on who we become. Good or bad, huge or teensie-weensie, these moments that we have with others become building blocks of who we are.

My parents, of course, were careful to cherish us growing up. As a little girl, my father looked at me lovingly and treated me that way, too. My mother would let me sneak into her bed long after I was a toddler and every, single time I did, she'd wrap her arm around me, kiss the top of my pony tail, and snuggle me against her warm body. She would read my homemade books and ooh and ahh at my elementary school art creations.

And all of that helped shape me. But you know? Now that I'm older and with kids of my own, I know that it wasn't just my folks. It wasn't.

Today, I'm reflecting on a few of the people who helped to build me up in my early years. I'm thinking about how grateful I am that they were such judicious stewards of their time with me and I'm recognizing how great of an impact they had on who I am now.

The last time I was home, I got the chance to see a few of those people--particularly the ones who taught me in my neighborhood public schools. With so much bad press about education in this country (and locally), what better time than to shine a light on some good people who I think got some things right? It's also "Teacher Appreciation Week" at the boys' school so I kind of have appreciating teachers on the brain. . . .

Yeah.

Matter o' fact. . .I wrote a little post about it. Like to hear it? Here it go!


First, her:

This is Mrs. Schieldge. She was my back-to-back kindergarten and first grade teacher way back in 1975 - 77. What I remember the most about her is that she told me repeatedly that I was smart and special and talented. She encouraged me to write a story in first grade that my mother helped me type up and put into a special folder. It felt like a masterpiece.

"You are such a bright and special girl," she told me. And she told me this often.

Even though I was only five or six years old, I remember her saying that to me. I can see me coloring at my desk and giving my very best effort. I keep those words in my pocket to this day and do my best to believe them.

I appreciate Mrs. Schieldge. And you know? I was not at the "it" school by any stretch of the imagination. This was an inner city public school where just about everyone there looked like me and not her. But this woman built her entire career in that very school and never left.

She made a difference in my life. She did.

So did this lady:

This is Ms. Osborne. (She was the first person I met who was a "Ms," which always made her seem extremely cool.)  Ms. Osborne was my fifth grade teacher when I first started at the magnet school in our district. I was nervous and scared and unsure about a lot of things. But once I got into Ms. Osborne's class, that didn't last long.

Nope.

Ms. Osborne opened my eyes to a world of poetry, literary classics and so much more. With her, I read books like "The Hobbit" and "Lord of the Rings" and even "The Odyssey." Ms. Osborne taught me about haiku and onomatopoeia. She published a little book of poetry each year and I still remember how proud I felt when I saw my work printed in a bound book.

Haiku by Kimberly Draper, 5th grade:

The clouds are pretty

Cotton candy in the sky

a beautiful cloud

Even if it wasn't so great, it doesn't matter. That's the exact poem that was printed in that book and let me tell you how I know: Because it was a pivotal experience. People remember things that shape them.

I appreciate Ms. Osborne for opening this world to me and helping me find my place in it. She made me feel like I belonged there.


And then, there's this guy:

Mr. Evans.

Sigh. Good ol' Mr. Evans.

Can I first just go on the record and say that middle school sucked? For me, of all of the times I had in my education--medical school included--no transition was harder for me than that one I made to middle school. Socially, academically, and just period. Middle school sucked.

Yeah, I said it.

For me, it was the first time that I ever really had to fully manage myself. No one was nudging me or coaching me to do my work or get it in on time. My pretty drawings and poetry weren't enough in middle school. There was more to do, more to learn and more responsibility. Which, for me, was rough.

Mr. Evans held my feet to the fire. He took no prisoners and pushed me to figure out how to sit my butt down and do my work. He was a firm, yet fair, git'r done or git'a zero kind of dude. There was no favoritism or passes with him. And honestly, that was hard for me. I had trouble getting things completed and often felt overwhelmed. But eventually, with his help, I got better at time management. I figured out what I needed to do as a learner, which was sort of different than some of my friends. I learned that I was a procrastinator, but that this was okay--as long as I figured out when I had to get on my job and get crack-a-lacking.

And when I didn't? There was no charming my way out of the big, fat 'C' that Mr. Evans would place in that top right hand corner without batting a lash.

"You were capable of an 'A', " he said, "but you just didn't make up your mind to work for it."

Damn.

I appreciate Mr. Evans because he taught me how to do my work. He taught me study habits and the importance of making up my mind to work to my potential. And he also showed me that there were consequences for mediocre efforts.

I am convinced that were it not for him, I would never have done as well in college or medical school as I did. His lessons took me far beyond middle school. His influence changed my life.

Lastly.

My middle school, Los Angeles, California

 Mrs. McNeal.

I wish I had a photo of her, but I don't. Mrs. McNeal unfortunately passed away from leukemia several years ago. But that doesn't mean that I don't remember everything about her just like it was yesterday. From her short salt and pepper hair cut, to her strict rules, to her liberal use of red ink all over our work--I remember it all.

Aaaaah, Mrs. McNeal. She was my eighth grade language arts teacher. And man, oh man, was she tough. I owe this blog, in part, to her. She was the person who really, really pushed me to write. She would write things like:

"Flesh this out more." Which meant that there was more in me to write.

"Don't be lazy!"  Which meant I was choosing easy words as a way out.

"Less is more!" Which meant that I had chosen too much.

Then there were the McNeal abbreviations:

"FRAG!"   (for fragment.)

"GRAMM!" (for grammatical errors.)

"AWK!" (for awkward wording.)

"DISJ!"  (for disjointed things that didn't fit the story.)

"REV!"  (which meant I needed to write it all over again.)


Mrs. McNeal taught me about literary license. She told me that it was okay to sometimes use quirky grammatical choices for informal story telling because sometimes it could give emphasis. She'd show me examples in literature and helped me to know when it was and wasn't appropriate. Mrs. McNeal helped me to learn to love writing. And to feel like I had to.

I cried when my mom told me she was sick. I cried again when she passed away. Writing about her even today makes my eyes sting a bit. But you know? I feel like I honor her every single time I write on this blog or anywhere else. Which means that she is very much alive.

Yes, she is.

My mother is a retired teacher. I know for certain that someone, somewhere is feeling these same feelings about her. And I love that. Did you know? Deanna was an educator, too. She taught middle school in some of the toughest schools in Atlanta and when someone asked her why she didn't just go somewhere easier, do you know what she said? She said:

"If I don't stay here and teach them, who will?"

Knowing the impact that she surely had on so many children warms my heart. Because it means that beyond even her family and friends, like Mrs. McNeal on this blog, she, too, will live on in ways that even I can't imagine.

Lord knows I would've never imagined all of this back in eighth grade. 

And yes. It stinks that there are also some teachers who haven't been so mindful of their influence on kids and who, just maybe, were sleeping on the job. But you know what? There are a whole, whole, whole lot of educators out there who leave it all on the field, man. Who get up and tell kindergartners that they are bright and special. Who open worlds of Greek mythology and iambic pentameters to young fifth graders. Who crack the most well-meaning whips on sixth graders and push them to achieve their full potential in ways that work best for them. And of course, the ones who pull out their red felt-tipped pens and graffiti the cursive written essays of fledgling eighth grade writers.

Yes, they still exist. I know they do because they are meeting me for parent-teacher conferences and helping me with building up my own children right now.

So, yeah. Shout out to the educators who have been serious about their role in the village of raising up children. Shout out to Mrs. Schieldge and Ms. Osborne and Mr. Evans and Mrs. McNeal. Shout out to Mrs. Draper and Miss Draper, too. And you know? Shout out to Mrs. Reed and Coach Bashor and Mr. Benefield and all of the people I know right NOW who remind me that teachers who care are not a thing of the past.

No way, no how.


You know what?  No matter what the newspapers tell you, all is not lost. It's not, it isn't, it ain't.*


*You can thank Mrs. McNeal for that (appropriately placed) FRAG! and that GRAMM! used for emphasis in this informal piece of writing.

***
Happy Teacher Appreciation Week. (At least, at my kids' school.)

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . Amel Larrieux with Sweetback singing "You will rise."


P.S  OMG! I just remembered that for a brief spell, Deanna had a blog. Turns out that she never took it down. . .and that made me sooo happy! She wrote about a few of her funny encounters as a middle school teacher in inner city Atlanta -- and through the humor, you can feel the love she had for those kids. Go visit her posts here.  Among her many other gifts, she had a beautiful gift for writing, too. What a joy to hear her authentic voice through her writing today. And you know what? There's another teacher somewhere to thank for that.

The kids are alright.

Wow.

We've been absolutely surrounded and enveloped in love. Outpourings of kindness from friends near and far underscoring for us how absolutely adored our dear sister was. We've been speaking her name and looking at her photos and telling stories. There have been tears and laughs and then tears again followed by some more laughs. And all of it has been okay.

And all of you! Sigh. You have been so amazing. Do you know? I imagine every single one of you with your prayers and thoughts as invisible hands holding us up. And yesterday I had to do something hard but it went fine because it was like all of you were surrounding me with invisible tissues wiping my tears. The love is so very felt. It so is.

As for me, you also know that I am a woman of strong faith. More than anything else, it is that which has given me the greatest comfort of all. My big brother and baby sister are believers, too, and in addition to clinging to one another, we are clinging to God's unchanging hand. So that part makes it okay, too.

I guess I just wanted you all to know that--so far--the kids are alright. We are. And since the kids are alright, we will make sure that the mama and the daddy are alright, too. No matter what.

I've thought of this quote a lot lately:

"A man who has lost his wife is called a "widower." A child without parents is an “orphan.” Yet there is no single English word to describe a parent who has lost a child. A heartbreaking lexical gap."

~ Danielle, former blogger at sixyearmed.com

That it is.

But believe me. The kids are alright. And even the grandkids are alright. So the mama and the daddy will be bolstered by our love every second of every day. They, too, will be alright.

I woke up this morning wanting to talk to you guys. To let you put your fingers on my pulse and your hands upon my shoulders to know that things were moving along. Hard but forward. Because you all are important to me. I feel the need to tell you that. You are so important to me. I know that some of you who only read here and have never seen or met me in person cried real, true tears. Your hearts have been broken and you, too, have been unable to sleep. So like one of you said, if people don't think these relationships we've built through words are real--to that we say "nay nay."

Yeah.

The morning after, I woke up and just lay in bed wondering if it was true. I rolled over and looked at my phone and saw a stream of texts. Then I knew it was.

Shit.

I got up and went through the motions. Surprisingly I thought I was feeling mostly okay. But then I prepared coffee without placing the carafe under the coffee maker spilling coffee everywhere. (And don't judge me for the el cheapo, old school Mr. Coffee coffee maker like my brother did.)  I knew that I needed to take a seat, close my eyes, and let this new reality start sinking in. At least for that morning. So that's what I did. I sat in silence and cried. Then I prayed. And cried some more. That helped.

At first I mostly wanted to be alone. But then I felt up to some company and one of the people I wanted to see the most sent me a text. My linesister, Ebony. 

Her: "Up for some company?"

Me: "Yours. Yes. Please."

And so she came.

She always makes me smile and laugh. I was so glad she was there.

Then my dear med school friends Tracey and Lisa came, too. And even my little godson Jackson. I went and spent time with Tounces. Silenced her phone and put her in bed. Then I went to hug my brother and love on my sister-in-law because she lost a sister, too. And you know the BHE has been just that throughout all of this. But he lost a sister, too, so we loved on each other, too.

Calls, texts and email poured in. You came to this blog and left kind words. And they made a difference. I hope you know that they did.

My dear friend the Profesora in Pittsburgh called me and as soon as she did, I just cried and cried. Because I needed her and she knew I did. So I was glad for that.

Lesley left me yummy desserts and took care of our dinner. That gesture wasn't lost. The timing was perfect and she even chose our favorite restaurant which I know for certain was not by accident. That meant a lot.

This next morning, I woke up thinking about what things would be important to Deanna. So one of the first things I did was what I knew Deanna would want. I went to sorority meeting. You can see from the comments that Deanna was a majorly committed and active member of Delta Sigma Theta, our mutual sorority. Many of her closest friends were in our chapter and they all were collectively grieving the loss of a sister, too. So. After going to see Tounces and Poopdeck (which is what she would have done first) I then went to speak to our sorors in the Stone Mountain-Lithonia chapter. I was nervous that I'd start crying but my two linesisters Joy and Marra came to stand by my side and hold my hand. Joy was on my right and Marra was on my left. That made me feel strong.

I know that Deanna was smiling down at me, too. And she loved sisterly acts in the sorority so I know that seeing those two flanking her sister made her heavenly wings flap even harder.

Speaking of wings. To the soror who left the comment saying this:

"I bet she's in heaven demanding to crochet her own wings adding a bit of crimson the the mix!" 

Know that these words comforted me and brought a huge smile to my face. So thanks for that. I'm even smiling as I type that.

I also loved the words from the friend who said this:

"Instant death, instant glory!"

Yeah. 

The sorors were so full of love for my sister when I got there. It was overwhelming, but in a good way. It made me know that Tounces and Poopdeck done good. Deanna was simply awesome. Or as my friend (and soror) Psonya reminded me of how I once described my sister to her:

"Deanna = Awesome." 

Ha.

So those tears and hugs at sorority meeting just reminded me of that more. I appreciated every single one of them, too.

After that, we all just convened at Will's house and spent time as a family. Friends and family members streamed in and that was good, too.

Dad's brothers came to be with him from Birmingham. And they always bring plenty of laughs with them, so that part was good. And funny.

 

Of course, food was involved. And y'all! It's some people out there who can really cook. I know it might sound bad, but I literally may have slapped my mama over some pound cake yesterday. Is that bad? Ha ha ha.  My friend and fellow Grady doctor, Danielle J., even left us a full meal on our doorstep (which kept perfectly in the cold.) You could see the love in every container. It felt like a gigantic, pecan-crusted hug. (And Danielle, don't think that you bringing my favorite of your desserts went unnoticed. It didn't.)

I may or may not be eating some of those desserts at this very second. Mmm hmmm.

These things comforted us. And our parents, especially. But you know what? Yesterday after sorority meeting, Joy told me that I needed to hurry up and tell those kids so that I could get the kids up to my parents. She said that because she had personal experience with this kind of awful situation. She was firm because she knew first hand. Joy let me know that those grandchildren would be a comfort because they somehow have a sixth sense and know how to lift spirits in ways that we can't.

I didn't even tell the children until Saturday afternoon. But you know? It went okay. It did. And I felt this wave of comfort wash over me because I always wondered why my heart was so connected to C.J.'s mother, Davina. Remember C.J.? He was my friend's little boy who was also swiftly taken from us in November of 2008. And let me tell you--I always wondered why God convicted me so much about Davina and her walk through that grief. But now I know! It was C.J. that helped my boys through this. It was. They held his picture and talked about angels and talked about God doing things we don't understand. Like taking a child. Or a beloved auntie.

Then, Isaiah said, "Now maybe Auntie can help take care of C.J. like she helped take care of us, Mom." And that made me cry and smile at the same time because I loved that beautiful image.

"We can do a balloon for Auntie, too, okay? Like we did for C.J. and Grandaddy in heaven." That's what Zachary said. Because when we started that ritual last year--last NOVEMBER--God already knew. He knew! So He was preparing us. Aaahhh. He was.

So now I get it.

But back to those grandbabies? Man. My linesister Joy spoke a good word if anyone ever did. I'm glad I told them and got them up there with their cousins. Because she was so right. Those babies knew. They comforted at most perfect times and I swear, y'all, it was like they somehow had . . .I don't know. .  some kind of instinct that we didn't. It was perfect and good and amazing to see.

And would you believe that Zachary, Isaiah, and Gabby all asked to sleep with Grandma last night? And note that sleeping with Grandma isn't so unusual, but asking specifically to do so kind of is. 

But they knew. And so we let them. We sure did.

So really? I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for each and every single prayer, thought, tear, comment, wish, or affirmation you have had for us. Outwardly. Inwardly. Publicly. Privately. All of them. I wanted you to see how you are helping us with your own eyes. I wanted you to feel like you could put your hands on us and this is the best way I can do that. 

Plus. 

Writing here has also been my very best form of therapy. And talking to you this morning was therapeutic. Man, it was. So thanks for sitting here with me at my kitchen table in early morning light holding my hand. Thank you for listening and nodding and smiling and understanding. Because it has made a difference already. It has.

Yeah. 

You know? The kids are alright. And the kids are gonna be alright, too. We will always be the "Draper 4"--  just with one looking out for us from heaven.

And that's good, too.


***
Happy Sunday. To you all.

Now playing on my mental iPod. A song Deanna and I both love by an artist she adored. This made me so happy because Deanna always lived her life like it was GOLDEN. And she was golden, too. :)

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the LORD."   ~  Isaiah 55:8