Never Broken: Songs Are Only Half the Story

by Jewel

  Gravity is gravity

  It doesn’t try to pull you down

  Stone is stone

  It can’t help but hold its ground

  The wind just blows though you can’t see

  It’s everywhere, just like I’ll always be

  You already are what you are

  And what you are is strong enough

  Look in the mirror

  Now that’s another story to tell

  I give love to others

  But I give myself hell

  I have to tell myself

  “In every seed there’s a perfect plan”

  Everything I hoped to be

  I already am

  A flower is a flower

  It doesn’t have to try to bloom

  Light is light

  It just knows how to fill a room

  And dark is dark

  So the stars have a place to shine

  The tide goes out

  So it can come back another time

  Goodbye makes hello so sweet

  And love is love so it can teach us

  That we already are what we are

  And what we are is beautiful

  And strong enough

  And good enough

  And bright enough

  With pregnancy still eluding me, I was consulting fertility doctors and naturopaths and medical practitioners of all sorts. I’d felt a lack of energy for several years now, and in general just felt “off.” I researched and talked to dozens of people on topics from how bell curve averages are set for analyzing blood work panels to how thyroid function affects fertility, from the debate of synthetic versus bioidentical hormones to all the nuances of in vitro fertilization should I have to go down that road. A dynamic doctor named Kim Balas, in Wyoming of all places, finally detected a hormone imbalance and an underachieving thyroid, although she felt these were not the underlying cause of the problem, but instead the result of long-term stress and exhaustion. All the stress in my life, the sleepless nights, and the touring had tapped my adrenal glands and caused a cascade of hormonal reactions. I called Virginia and said, “I don’t think I am going to be able to do the work necessary to make this record a success. I need to take time off to get pregnant.” We called Scott together to tell him and said that he could pull the album if he wanted.

  Scott understood and said he still wanted to put the album out. This was new for me. I had never released a product knowing in all likelihood it would not thrive because of my unwillingness to support it. But I wanted a family more than I wanted more record sales.

  I did a two-week tour, and then Ty and I headed for some rest and relaxation—just the two of us. We spent three months riding our motorcycles from Texas to Canada by way of the Rockies. My love affair with motorcycles had begun several years earlier when Ty called me up while I was working in L.A. “Hey hon, you’d never guess what I’m doing. I’m headed to go buy a Rebel motorcycle. Tony talked me into it.” To which I responded flatly, “Well, get me one too.” Ty was shocked, but I knew he would fall in love with motorcycles and they would be his new thing—I could either join him or be left behind. When he had dedicated himself to learning natural horsemanship in Northern California, I went with him and we lived in a trailer for three months while we both learned how to ride horses “at liberty,” without saddle, head stall, or reins.

  Our first ride was through Marfa, Big Bend, around the Panhandle, down by the ocean, then up through the Hill Country, in blistering heat and subzero temperatures. That’s one thing about doing anything with a bull rider—you better be ready to go big and go extreme.

  Riding motorcycles reignited my love for traveling. I had gotten so burned out by touring, but seeing the country from a bike made traveling feel free and fun again, like riding a horse—you could smell the rain coming and the hay fields freshly cut. The singular focus it takes to ride a bike safely is similar to meditating. You can think of nothing but the road unfolding before you.

  Each morning we looked at the map and made the day’s plan. It was spontaneous. If we liked a town, we stayed a few days so Ty could fish and I could write. I began to write poetry again, something I’d stopped doing when grieving over the separation from my mom. I had been so busy after that, getting out of debt and saving a nest egg, that words just never came, and it felt good to see them coming back, and to write about the land I was seeing around me. Nature was again the best medicine. I also wrote about Ty. I was madly in love with him, and while I sensed he was dealing with an inner war of emotion, I had no doubt we would make it through. We took our time exploring rivers and canyons and mountains. One stunning, sunny morning we rode into a box canyon in Telluride, Colorado, the snowcapped peaks keeping watch over the tiny hamlet nestled with Rockwellian charm in its valley. I knew instantly I would have this town in my life for a long time. We stayed several weeks before heading north. We saw wolves, bears, and buffalo in Yellowstone, and rode into Montana before turning around and slowly heading home. By the time we made it back to Texas it was fall. We moved into my large studio to begin a remodel of Ty’s ranch house. The relaxing effects of the trip soon gave way to some of the recurring strains since we’d gotten married. But I did get pregnant.

  Being pregnant was the best time of my life in so many ways. It felt like the opportunity of a lifetime. I studied which foods build great healthy babies, and being able to apply what I knew about nutrition and herbs to pregnancy made it feel so worthwhile. It was an honor and a privilege to create and house and give birth to a baby. Every day I spoke to him, wrote for him, and sang for him. After about six months I had doctor’s orders to take it easy because I was having overactive Braxton Hicks contractions and quit traveling and playing gigs at all. As I was homebound in my studio, I decided to do my second indie release and make a children’s record for my future son. It was fun to think of little fables and stories that would teach morals and lessons to him when he was old enough to understand. I wanted to make it a CD that the parents would enjoy as much as the kids. There were songs about loving him forever, about the magic of stories and books, about not being afraid of the dark, about celebrating the differences in each of us rather than condemning them. The record was called The Merry Goes ’Round.

  One of the first things I did when I found out I was pregnant was call Lee. He had stopped working for me in 2001 and gone back to Louisiana, where he was raised, to care for his dad, who was suffering from lung cancer. When he left, he told me that if I ever had a baby to call him and that he would come help. We had lost touch over the ten years that had passed, but I found him in Louisiana. It was so good to hear his voice and to share my news with him. I asked if he still wanted to help, and he said he was coming. I was so excited to see my dear friend, and knew it would be so helpful to have that support as a new mom—I still did not have many real friends in my life and was a bit isolated. Plus he was an amazing cook, so I would be the luckiest girl in the world. Lee packed his belongings (including six chickens!) into a U-Haul and arrived a few days later. He moved into a small house on the ranch and we spent hours catching up. He had no idea what all had happened in the aftermath with my mom, and when I told him, he held me and we cried together. It felt so comforting to have him by my side again.

  My pregnancy was uneventful except for one moment when I was six months pregnant. I was driving my car from town back to the ranch when out of nowhere a heavy metal brushfire truck T-boned me. The fire truck had blown through a stop sign while responding to a meadow fire and without looking absolutely smashed into us. I barely had time to brace as I saw the bright green truck out of the corner of my eye. The next thing I knew, I was coming to, my air bags deployed all around me. I felt my tummy immediately. It felt okay. I was confused, unsure what had happened exactly. My car was so mangled the door would not open. The firemen in the truck that had hit me used a crowbar to pry me out. I was not
bleeding. I knew my name and where I was. I was visibly pregnant and they kindly gave me a coat and sat me down. The firemen said they’d called an ambulance and asked whether there was someone I wanted to call. Oh. Yes. I should call Ty. I needed to keep my blood pressure down and focus on whether I could feel the baby move inside me. I kept one hand on my tummy while I dialed Ty. When he picked up, I said hello in the eerily calm voice I use when I’m under extreme duress. “I got in a car crash. I am fine. A fire truck hit me. I’m waiting for the ambulance. I am fine though.” “Goddamnit Jewel, you have that ultra-calm voice—how bad is it really?” He was at my side within minutes. I was sitting leaned against the cab of the truck, and when I saw him, my tough exterior cracked slightly. I whimpered in half-shock. “I don’t know anyone here. I don’t know any of these people,” I told him, tearing up. I have always had fear and anxiety around strangers if no one I know is with me, especially in a vulnerable situation. I act calm and strong until someone safe is there and then I will quietly turn into a puddle of tears. Ty held me and kissed my forehead and asked if I felt okay. I still hadn’t felt the baby move, but I felt like he was okay when I closed my eyes and focused on taking long, deep breaths. I didn’t let myself get worked up or go there. I did not want the boost of adrenaline or the chemicals produced by shock to make it to the baby’s bloodstream. The ambulance came, they loaded me up, and after they’d checked my pulse and blood pressure, I remember one medic saying, “God, your vitals are not elevated. It’s like your body doesn’t believe you were in a crash that bad.” I was looking at the roof, doing my meditation. That’s one thing about abuse or trauma—small things will trigger you, but in an actual crisis you often stay quite calm.

  At my ob-gyn they took a sonogram. I was so eager to see his face and see his little heart beating. The nurse spread the gel neatly on my belly while I wanted to scream, “Just hurry already!” I kept my mouth shut and my eyes on the screen. Out of the gray static appeared the beautiful face of my baby, sucking his thumb. He was all right, the doctor said. Ty and I were both so happy. On the drive home I got a call from my frantic publicist, who explained there were photos of the wreck already on TMZ. Thankfully the story had a happy ending.

  • • •

  I GAVE BIRTH TO KASE TOWNES MURRAY on July 11, 2011, in Stephenville. I was a week past due, which is quite common with a first baby, and had gone in for a routine checkup. The doctor checked his vital signs in her office and the next thing I knew I was being rushed to the hospital for an emergency C-section. I went right into my super-calm breathing mode. My blood pressure remained even. I listened to the doctors and made all the decisions necessary. Ty, however, was a nervous wreck. He was weaving back and forth on his feet, like he did when he was competing. I was given anesthesia and could feel the knife cutting into me, and tugging and pulling deep into my body, but felt no pain. I could hear the wet sound of them taking my intestines out and setting them on a table next to the doctor. I could hear the doctor’s voice intensify as it came time to pull Kase out. It was surreal and strange. I just kept waiting to hear my son’s cry. Ty could see everything, and when they pulled Kase out, they handed our son to his father. It was the first time I had ever seen him cry. He showed Kase to me and I could see his little mouth pursed and making sucking sounds. He was not crying. He was hungry. He was healthy and hungry and absolutely the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. The doctor sewed me up and put me in a recovery suite, where my vitals would be monitored for an hour. It was the longest hour of my life. Kase stayed with Ty. I asked if they could bring my son in, and the nurse watching over me said no. I wanted to stab her with the pencil she was fiddling with as she read her book and go running in to see my baby. Instead I focused on the ceiling and tried to stay calm. I was so excited to meet my son I nearly jumped out of my own skin.

  Finally I was rolled in and saw Kase all bundled up. His hair had been washed and Ty was sitting in a rocking chair holding and talking to him. Finally I got to hold him and smell him and see his cloudy gray newborn eyes. I was eager and determined to breastfeed but had been warned it was actually a learned skill and took practice. The umbilical cord had been wrapped around his neck, but despite this, Kase was a strong and healthy baby and he was just as determined. Breastfeeding him in those first hours was heaven. It was the best of everything that nature and nurture had to offer. It felt like what I was made for. I stared down at his little kitten hands. He was impossibly small. His ears were as thin and soft as rose petals. I wept with joy to have my very own baby. I can’t help but weep now as I write this. I loved him impossibly more than I could have ever known. He slept on my chest for the three days I was in the hospital, and I stayed awake to make sure he was breathing. His small panting breaths rose and fell with my own. All was well with the world.

  Ty was so nervous driving the car home that his knuckles were white on the wheel. I could tell how much he loved this baby. Both our hearts forever changed.

  After the pain meds they gave me post-surgery the first day, I didn’t take so much as an Advil. I didn’t want anything to get into my breast milk and contaminate Kase’s little system. I ate like an athlete competing in the breastfeeding Olympics. Lots of avocado and fatty acids to help his brain develop. Herbal concoctions for colic and upset tummies and black walnut extract full of rich minerals to help his teeth and bones to form. As my milk came in, I could not believe how many hours in a day would be dedicated to feeding him and me. I was a human milking machine. I slept and ate and fed Kase. There had been times I worried and wondered how on earth I would know how to be a mom when I’d never had a good example. But when it happened, I felt my heart swell with love and ability. I knew my son. My instincts were intact and my curiosity would let me learn what I did not know.

  MILK AND LAVENDER

  you fell asleep

  in my arms

  this evening

  you had your

  evening feeding

  in your usual

  fashion

  looking at the

  burlap lamp shade

  as it swayed

  rocked by the unseen hand

  of the air conditioner

  you fidget

  with your left hand

  the more tired you get

  it starts with a curious exploration

  feeling my face

  playing with the tassel

  on my sweater

  but as sleep overtakes you

  the herky-jerky motions

  increase until

  you flop your whole arm wildly

  I grab your tiny hand

  wrap your finger

  to make a fist

  around my thumb

  then fold my fingers

  over yours

  let the weight of my arms

  hold your own firmly

  against your belly

  this quiets you

  and you relax

  and begin to

  eat in earnest

  looking at me

  your eyes grow

  so heavy

  you shake your head

  as if to wake yourself

  fighting sleep

  but the warm milk

  and holding you close

  lull you into

  such a sweet

  serene state

  until the nipple

  pops

  out of your mouth

  I straighten my blouse

  lean back into my chair

  cradle you close

  and kiss your cheek

  repeatedly

  while you sleep

  I can’t stop staring

  you are completely relaxed

  your mouth

  puckers and pooches

  your cheeks droop heavily

  your eyeb
rows like

  bows empty of an arrow

  I stand with you

  still nestled in my arms

  turn the light out

  hover over your crib

  but cannot bear

  to put you down

  and so I stand there

  in the dark

  straining to see

  your shape

  in the dwindling light

  swaying back and forth

  bending over your

  sleeping form

  to kiss your temples

  that smell like

  milk and lavender

  twenty-nine

  family tree

  I took more time off after the birth of my son. I had friends who went right back to work after having a baby, and they really regretted it. I thought, You know what? I’ve made money. I built and rebuilt a career so that I could have this. So I gave myself time to find my sea legs. Once again, I switched genres from country artist to mom. I poured all of my creativity and energy into my exciting new job. As he grew I began to make art inspired by my new muse, writing several children’s books. I did not make a new record and would not for six years.

  That’s a lifetime in rock and roll years. But I wanted to figure out how to be a mom without having to figure out how to be a professional on top of it. As ever, my greatest highs are simultaneously my greatest lows. My relationship with Ty began crumbling. It was a great time and also a sad time all at once. I loved getting to know Kase. There were a lot of things I was fascinated by. There were some I was a little terrified by. I remember holding him on the couch, watching TV while I fed him. It’s funny that the natural world has always been what’s educated me and given me the greatest insights into living. I was watching an orangutan cuddle her baby. She snuggled it and licked it and watched it play and touched it and kept it from wandering away as it playfully explored. And I thought, Oh, yeah. That’s all it is. I remember feeling completely calm after that. I just have to lick my cub and get to know him. I just have to be here and engage.