This Time Last Year... Continued

... During our time in Lexington with the family during that weekend, it wasn't uncommon for most people to comment on the state of my condition.  Apparently, I had that "look" to most people, and they were afraid that I would go into labor at any minute.  I remember as all of the aunts, uncles, cousins, and Mema were getting situated to receive friends and family at the funeral home that Saturday evening, Kyle insisted that he couldn't stand in line next to me.  Why?  He didn't want his shoes getting wet if my water broke!  I guess neither of us realized how real of a possibility that was during the weekend.  Why, going by my due date of September 29th, I had at least 11 more days to go...  Or so we thought!

On the way back home to Calhoun Falls from Papa's funeral that Sunday night (around 9:00'ish), Brantley made a joke as we passed the road that leads to Self Regional Medical Center in Greenwood.  It went a little something like this: "You better holler if you want to stop now, because I'm not coming back this way until your ultrasound appointment tomorrow afternoon."  Good one, Brantley!!  Much to his surprise (okay, mine, too), we were on our way back to Self within the next five to six hours ready to bring Baby #2 into this great big world.

I'll try to spare the details, but there was no doubt that it was showtime when I woke up at 2 AM the next morning (Monday).  I had the strangest little sensation when I rolled over in bed.  Within seconds, that little sensation was followed by water.  Lots of water.  I gently woke up Brantley and told him the news.  This time, I figured it was best to skip the shampoo, shave, and hair dryer.  I'd only been asleep for about four hours, so the usual bed head look hadn't quite settled in yet. (Thank goodness.  I wanted to look good for my second delivery!)  By 2:30, Baylor was whisked away across the cow pasture to the grandparents and the little Chevy Equinox was doing close to 70 with the hazard lights blinking all the way to Greenwood!

I think being a woman is a privilege, especially because we have the opportunity to experience giving birth to a child.  That is one of my most favorite things EVER.  During my four hours of delivery and taking it all in, we were all so excited to finally find out; boy or girl??  My main L&D nurse kept referring to the baby as "it."  Not long into the process, she asked if we'd picked out a name because she thought "it" sounded so bad.  We informed her that Baylor had been calling the baby "Jesus" for several weeks.  As it got down to the last few minutes of pushing and the excitement of the baby's arrival, the nurse shouts, "Jesus is coming!"  Right on, sister... I'm all about evangelizing and reaching a lost world!!

At 6:37 that very morning, Dr. Beudrot delivered an 8 lb. 1 oz. baby boy with a head of strawberry blond hair.  We decided to name him Joseph Cain.  (To those of you wondering.  Yes, we realize that Cain was the world's first murderer.  It was just a name we both liked, and believe me, those names weren't easy to come by this time around.  We are doing everything within our power to teach our Cain that slaying his brother over crops and sheep isn't in his best interest.)  God had given us another handsome and healthy baby boy to add to the family!

With all of the emotions of that weekend last year, God held true to his promises.  He always has and always does keep his promises, but this was an instance of life season's that I will never forget.  The old testament book of Ecclesiastes has a beautiful poem which even non-Christians probably know (just listen to the Forrest Gump soundtrack); "For everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven.  A time to be born and a time to die."  During the short season of mourning Papa's death, God redeemed the heartache and tears of sorrows with wonder and tears of joy as he brought forth new life.  Sometimes the seasons change slowly, and the winters of our lives seem to stretch on and on.  But there's the hope of knowing that spring isn't far away.  God rocked my world and took me from winter to spring in four days.  Seeing God's hand throughout each season of my life; that's one of the reasons I love to reminisce.

This Time Last Year

I love to reminisce.  In fact, Brantley brought it to my attention that my family will sit around the table for hours after we've finished a meal retelling old stories and reliving old memories.  We've always done that, even with our extended families, and I wouldn't trade those times for anything.  Kyle and I are even guilty of calling each other up out of the blue because a random memory came to mind.  It's fun to see what details we both remember... or don't remember!   It's the same when I get together with friends, especially ones I haven't seen in a while.  It seems like all of my comments start out, "Do you remember that time when...?" 

Let me go ahead and apologize, because this time last year was a time in my life that I hope to never forget.  God orchestrated several seasons of my life all within four days.  On Thursday, September 16, 2010, Brantley made a surprise visit to my classroom shortly after school was dismissed for the day.  I was in my usual mode of preparing for the next day focused on getting everything in order when he just happened to drop in.  Within five minutes of his arrival, he let me know that my Papa had died around 11:00 that morning.  I remember the shock of hearing that news; news I'd dreaded hearing for years.  Of course, death is a part of life,and I knew the news would come some day, but all I could do was cry.  In that classroom with just Brantley and me, it truly felt like time stood still.  I didn't envy Brantley and his responsibility at that moment, but he was so respectful and gentle in the way that he told me.  He just held on to me as I took it all in.

You see, Martin Ernest Meetze, my Papa, was a man like no other.  Like everyone, he had his faults, but he was a major influence in my life in so many ways.  That entire weekend was spent with the Meetze family reliving our favorite memories of Papa... 

...Even though I was probably around seven years old at the time, I can still see him so clearly standing inside the doorway of his and Mema's house, looking so nervous, as he told me he'd run over my pink and purple bicycle (the one with the pom-poms).  It was my fault for leaving the bike in the middle of the driveway, but I think he was more upset than I was.  Whatever he was doing and wherever he was going were put to the side.  He took me out to his welding shop, and it wasn't long before the broken pink pedal was replaced with a white one.  For years, I rode my mismatched bike with pride! 

... I vividly remember snow days as a child mainly because Papa was usually outside waiting on Kyle and me so we could play.  He'd have his sled in tow and away we'd go.  It seemed like hours would go by while he pushed us down hills on that sled or took us for walks through the woods.  There's even a picture at Mema and Papa's of one of those very days.  He even talked Mema into getting on the sled with him one time.  Away they went, sledding down the hill towards the creek with Mema squealing the whole way down!

... Thank goodness for Papa's natural mechanical ability.  He was a welder who could fix and build anything... and everybody around knew it!  He was responsible for making many of my science projects look so good (and he even helped stage the pictures to make it look like I was the one hard at work).  He was responsible for teaching me how to strike my first arc and weld a decent weld.  And no matter how much work he had to do, he never seemed to mind if we just hung around the shop keeping him company.

... When I got to college, he was still there.  His love for the outdoors and watching things grow is what led me to pursue my love of agriculture.  During my early years at Clemson, I had the chance to appear in a television segment on At Home, Southern Style, a show produced on campus.  I needed leaf samples of common SC trees to use on the segment.  It was Papa who took me out that Sunday afternoon, just me and him, searching for and identifying specimens.

.... And a couple of times, it was just me and Papa sitting together in the deerstand.  He didn't have much to say, but that was fine with me.  I just liked being in his presence no matter how old I was.

... On my wedding day, I had the privilege of walking down the aisle arm-in-arm with my daddy and Papa.  He even danced with me at the reception, although I think it was completely out of character for him.

... Baylor's middle name is Martin.  I'd say that made Papa kinda proud because very seldom did he ever refer to him simply as "Baylor."  It was always "Baylor Martin."  He loved Baylor, and Baylor loved him.  There aren't many days that go by that Baylor doesn't mention or ask about Papa in some way.  They made quite a pair!

Brantley, Baylor, and I visited with Papa one last time just less than a week before he died.  I am forever grateful that God encouraged us to make that visit.  We had no idea that it would be our last, but it was time well spent.

That Thursday last year was just the beginning.  Over the next few days, we visited with family and friends as they shared their sympathies, and we celebrated Papa's life at Shiloh.  Little did we know what blessing God had in store for all of us who were missing our Papa something terrible...