Day 86 - The Happiest Grief

October 5, 2012 (Sam)

      Rachel lost her child on September 26th, the same day that she had him. They had only a few precious hours together before he died. Today, October 5th, all the Beacon of Hope staff went to her house to see her. When we arrived, the mood was uncomfortably festive. Rachel was nowhere to be seen. All the neighbors had brought over their couches and they were lined up in the alley leading up to Rachel’s front door. Everyone sat outside drinking chai and eating mandazi. People were laughing and telling jokes. I sat awkwardly in my seat, fidgeting. I looked up at the clouds; they looked like a herd of fluffy sheep standing in a big group.

      Rachel suddenly appeared, and nothing changed. No one stopped talking or laughing. I was shocked. She walked down the line of couches shaking everyone’s hands. Shaking their hands. I may be the culturally insensitive American in this situation, but I stood up and gave her a hug. I looked into her dark puffy eyes. Sadness suddenly hit me and I almost choked on my mandazi. After downing two cups of chai, everyone abruptly stood up and started to sing. The song was in Swahili, but from my limited vocab, I could tell we were singing a song about being thankful. That seemed strange. Then another coworker stood up and said a few words about being thankful. He quoted a few Bible verses, “Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances.” And “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” This seemed mildly inappropriate to me. You’re talking to a grieving family and you won’t let the word “thanksgiving” stop coming out of your mouth. From where I’m sitting I can’t see Rachel’s face but I can’t imagine that it’s radiating “thankfulness.” Then he got to the point. He looked at Rachel and her husband and said, “Your child isn’t dead. He’s alive. He may not be here, but that doesn’t mean he’s not alive.”

      I no longer have mandazi in my mouth, but I’m choking again, wiping my eyes. Looking around I can’t help asking myself, “Am I the only one crying?” After someone closed in prayer, everyone just stood up and left. And that was it. We walked out into the street, and people are laughing and joking with each other again, like someone didn’t just lose a child. So I started thinking: Maybe people don’t seem overly mournful because losing family members is just a way of life here. Maybe it’s so much the norm that it doesn’t really faze people. But then I realized this was stupid thinking. How can I possibly think that just because death is more common in this country than in ours that it makes losing someone somehow “easier” here? That’s ludicrous. And then a verse popped into my head. Romans 12:12, “Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.” People here aren’t “unfazed” when they lose a family member because death is common in Africa. People here experience the same feelings that we do when we lose loved ones. We all experience the same emotions; we all grieve. But I think that a part of death being such a prevalent part of every day life here is that people have realized, perhaps more clearly than we have, that joy can still be found inside of their sorrow. Because the fact is, life here sucks sometimes, but we have hope. We have a great hope of an eternal glory that far outweighs the light and momentary troubles that we are now experiencing. “So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal” (2 Cor 4:18). Rachel is looking forward to an eternal hope. Her baby might be gone now, but she is going to see him again.

      This isn’t in any way meant to minimize the suffering that her and her family are going through. The fact is, Rachel lost a child and she is in pain, and this loss will never cease to be a reality for her family. She got to hold her newborn boy for a few hours before hospital staff had to take him away and bury his body. But there is a happy ending that she is looking forward to one day. Life is fragile and full of suffering, but she is not focused on this temporary reality. Rachel, her family, and everyone else who sat around us in that alley tonight, have their eyes fixed on what is unseen, what is eternal. And that is cause for great joy.