A Jon Post
I met Zeka and his son Christino back in September. They arrived in the hospital here in Maputo after spending 3 months in the hospital in a city called Beira. Zeka has a small stature and his son reflects that too. At 7 years old Christino was the size of most 4 year olds. A quick smile, an easy demeanor and his soft-spoken humility mark Zeka in a crowd.
When they arrived, Christino’s condition was grave. The tumor that had grown from his eye was very large and wept fluid profusely, dehydrating Christino’s little body quickly. It was clear from the beginning that the likelihood of his recovery was remote.
After two chemo treatments over 6 weeks the tumor reduced dramatically and Christino was able to get up out of bed and interact with the other children in the ward. Zeka and I celebrated together and praised God for His mercy.
Once, while playing checkers with friends outside, Zeka sat nearby watching and cheering my failing efforts to compete with my opponent. Layne came seeking me out with Anaya on her hip asking me to watch our daughter so Layne could serve a lady who needed more attention than Anaya was willing to share. Zeka reached out and offered to hold her while I finished the game. At first, Anaya wrinkled her little nose, pushed her little arms out and made it clear that she wanted to stay with MOMMY. Zeka, unconcerned, held her in his arms and swung her around so she couldn’t see Layne while he cooed and showed her the leaves of a nearby tree. Anaya was enraptured. Zeka’s comfort and ease with our daughter gave us such joy and the encouragement we needed that Anaya was not a burden to the patients.
We left Mozambique to return to the USA for 3 months, ensuring friends we would be back in January. Christino’s treatment schedule was to finish in February so Zeka assured us we would all see each other when we got back.
Our furlough came and went, we returned in January and Zeka’s name was on the top of my list to see soon. I had heard from our friend and partner Alice, who was here while we left, that Christino’s tumor had gone down even more since we had left.
I walked in to Zeka’s room and saw Christino.
“Wait…” my heart cried, “Why is his tumor as big as it was when they arrived?”
A new tumor, near the first, but not in the same place had sprouted up in the past few days and grown at a terrifying rate. Zeka related the doctor’s plan which was to remove part of the tumor with surgery and give him 6 more months of chemo but I could see the fear in his eyes as he told me. His son… his oldest son… lay there dying and he could do nothing.
Two days later I got a phone call from Alice. She was at the hospital with Zeka and they had bad news. The doctors had discharged Christino. There was nothing more to be done. He needed to go home.
To die.
I rushed to the hospital. When I walked into Zeka’s room the grief hung palpable in the air. We all knew what was happening. Christino labored to breath through a tumor-compressed airway and I stood there stupidly with no words and less confidence.
“I don’t have words Zeka” I said… dumbly.
“That’s ok Jon. There are no words.” Zeka replied.
I couldn’t tell which crushed me more. The courage in his words or the fear in them.
Over the next two weeks and a half I pleaded with the Lord to give me wisdom in how best to love Zeka and Christino as they waited for the hospital to arrange a plane ticket for them to get home.
Every day I saw them I sat silently by Christino and prayed earnest, searching prayers. Casting all my cares on Christ, and doing my best to help Zeka do the same.
Just before the news came through that they finally had received their plane ticket, I asked Zeka to tell me about Christino before they came to the hospital.
I’m not sure whom Zeka’s smile relieved more, him or me.
He spoke of Christino’s love for school, math particularly, his joy when working in the family farm, and his mother’s smile when she gave birth to their firstborn.
It was a short story, Christino was only 6 when he was admitted to the hospital, but it left me breathless with the mystery and beauty of my God’s creation. Even a 7-year-old life still weaves into this creation story and reflects the glory and splendor of God.
And though Christino will not see his 8th year, I’m glad God gave him the first 7.
And though Zeka says goodbye to his oldest son now, though tears usher him into his departure, his well-formed eyes, cheeks, nose, and smile await us on the other side of this dirty glass.
Goodbye Christino.
Go fly!