More Than

They were more than balloons. They were a celebration of a birthday and a baby coming soon. A reunion of a family who hasn't seen each other in months.

She is more than a pregnant woman. She is turning 39 and having her fourth child. The other three are twenty and in their late teens. She raised them by herself for twelve difficult years and she should be five years from a single nest. But she met a man who loves her and plans surprise parties. They married two years ago. The pregnancy hasn’t been easy, but she has found happiness.

After weeks of isolation, I am slowly walking up to strangers and doing Our Southern Souls in person again. I have missed people and their "more thans."

She is more than a woman pulling weeds in a community garden. She is a master gardner who helped fight developers and politicians to make Bayfront Park in Daphne a protected public space.

She is more than a woman resting in a swing. She raised seven kids, but ran away with the youngest two, leaving her marriage to an abusive man. She went to seminary, married a pastor, and will soon be the pastor of her own small church.

She is more than a woman selling pretty beads on sticks that go into plants. She lost her younger sister to diabetes, her mother to suicide over losing her daughter, and her father to a broken heart over losing his wife. Her whole family gone within two years. The beads are help her work through the pain.

He is more than a homeless guy with holes in his shoes. He wears bracelets that say "Jesus" and "Patience" and carries a rosary in his pocket. He grew up in group homes since the age of seven. He says praying and helping others help him cope with ADHD and severe depression. He hopes Mobile will be his fresh start at a better life.

The man behind him waiting for breakfast on Sunday morning is also more than homeless. He is a Navy veteran living with his wife and dog in tent city. He lost his job a year ago, but gives the extra shirt in his backpack to another man waiting in line.

She is more than a lady sitting behind a sewing machine making masks for healthcare workers. She was a chubby child and learned how to sew so she could make her own cute clothes that would fit. Sewing became how she creates and gives back.

She is more than a photographer taking pictures of a family on the Fairhope beach. She drives a van with the painted words “You Matter” and “See Others, They Matter Too” on the other side. Reminders that all people are important, even the ones she will never meet.

I am more than a tall woman with hair coming out of a sloppy bun on the back of my head, unsure of the last time I washed it. You are more than a snapshot of this moment.

You. Me. The ones we know and the ones we don’t. Maybe months of separation will help us see the "more than" in each other.