A Layne Post

There is a strange cycle that seems to happen at the hospital; we will go for some time when it seems like people are improving and pushing through, and then suddenly we hit a season of loss. Over the past couple of weeks we have lost four friends.

I was driving home from the hospital the other day, through tears I imagined leaving behind Jon and Anaya and the difficulties they would face of being a single parent and a daughter without a Mom. That is what is happening when we lose a friend. It is not only about them; it is the three children at home, who have not seen their Mommy in 6 months.
And now never will.
It is the siblings who said goodbye to their brother for a short hospital visit, and a year later hear the news he is not coming home.
It’s the tired wife at home hundreds of miles away, who was desperately counting down her husband’s treatment cycles, who hears from a stranger on the phone that death came; it was sudden, unexpected.

Rosa, Fernando, Belvindo, Georgina…

I’ll be honest, sometimes it is overwhelming. Sometimes gathering the strength to walk back into that room of strangers, occupying the beds other friends have died in, is nearly impossible.

But then the lover of our souls comes. He romances us, dances with us, and puts in us His heart of pursuit for the ones He loves. Somehow Spring comes.

Dance With Me by Chris Dupre

Dance with me
O lover of my soul
To the song of all songs
Romance me
O lover of my soul
To the song of all songs

Behold You have come
Over the hills
Upon the mountains
To me You have run
My beloved
You’ve captured my heart

With You I will go
You are my love
You are my fair one
Winter is past
And the springtime has come

Dance with me

A Jon Post

Fernando is 16. He arrived at the hospital a few months ago sick, in pain, and unable to walk on his right leg. He had been waiting for a few weeks for analysis on the growth there.
Finally the word came back. It’s cancer, and we have to amputate your leg.
He waited another few weeks for the surgery to be scheduled and for his white blood cell count to be high enough to withstand the surgery and went to the operating table.
When he recovered enough from the amputation he was transferred to the oncology ward to receive 6 months of chemo.
Though brave, strong and optimistic in his first months, he steadily got worse and worse. He grew weaker every week and started sleeping more. I used to have long conversations with him when I visited but he would be asleep during my time there more and more often.
His 18 year old cousin Leito, who has known him since the two were young boys together in their village far to the north, has stood with him for his whole journey. Leito massages his remaining leg because the cancer has spread to the knee and causes pain. Leito helps him to the bathroom, brings him food, and stays nearby in case there’s a need.
Last week when I arrived I found Leito standing outside just looking at the ground.
“Fernando has been discharged” he told me.
My smile turned to ashes… I know what Leito’s words mean.
“Fernando has been discharged”, spoken in abject weariness in Leito’s voice, kept repeating itself in my head. Fernando will not be getting better.
Though Fernando lives in the extreme north of the country with his mother, his father actually lives here in Maputo city.
In the 4 months Fernando has been in the hospital his father has visited him twice. Fernando and Leito left the hospital that afternoon to go to his father’s house.

I once had a conversation with Fernando about what he wanted to do when he was older. He spoke about many of his dreams  and he used the phrase “When my real life begins” as he spoke of his future. I remember sitting next to him when he said that, feeling the hope rise in me that pressed against a reality that stared me in the face that indeed his dreams would come true and he would recover from this cancer.
Fernando and I also spoke of Christ and His resurrection. We held hands and our hearts rejoiced in our shared faith.
Now, in his fathers home, he waits to die.
Fernando is waiting for his real life to begin.

He will not have to wait long.

A Layne Post

Marta. Something about her has captured me.

Sweet Marta is twenty-two years old. The first time I met her she looked absolutely terrified to be there in the Dermatology ward. After chatting a bit, I realized she just needed to be distracted. By the end of our conversation I had even gotten a few smiles and laughs.

Her family lives quite far from Maputo, only an Aunt is in town, but she didn’t have her phone number. She did, however, know where she worked. Now, I don’t know the city well, and probably would never be able to find “somewhere someone works”, but the Lord had something else in mind. When Marta told me the school her Aunt worked at, I realized it was literally 2 streets away from my house! I jotted down her name, and while I couldn’t promise she’d visit, I could promise an effort in finding her. My mother-in-love, Vicki, was here at the time, and we went and found her the next day. We informed her of Marta’s situation and that was that.

Now, weeks and weeks later, she has only visited once. I quit asking, as it always came with a face of disappointment. Maybe it wasn’t so much about the Aunt coming, maybe it was more about Marta knowing I cared enough to track this lady down for her, even though we’d only met once. I may not be able to promise visits from her Aunt,  but I can promise my own.

Still my visits usually found Marta with watery eyes, full of fear and loneliness. I would encourage her as best I could and give as many kisses to her forehead as seemed appropriate during my visit. Even a short term team I hosted commented on her discouragement.

One week Marta was looking particularly bad; I was actually worried for her life. I noticed her long nails, and the Lord reminded me of the clippers I saw on the side table of my other friend across the hall. I borrowed them quickly and clipped her nails for her. It was a simple act, but she seemed appreciative. I asked her if she liked painting her nails, and the answer was, of course, “Yes!” That was something I could do easily and cheaply! I promised a day of painting nails sometime soon.

That day on the way out she asked for a sweater; she was topless under a blanket, and it is winter here. My partner Alice has some donated clothes and sweetly volunteered to take one by to her. A week later when I visited, she seemed to have taken a turn for the better. She proudly donned her new sweater and assured me she stays warm. Her face was clean, and her skin moist, a big improvement from the week before.

Another day I brought chocolate chip cookies for a friend’s family, who had given me some veggies from their garden, and I thought it was a perfect opportunity to bless Marta as well. I threw 5 cookies into a little container and dropped them by her room. On my way out, she was already eating them, and with a big grin assured me how much she liked them.

The day came for painting nails. I picked out a very bright cheerful pink. While Marta was my goal, I ended up painting 5 other pairs of hands as well. How special to see the way the women lit up from such a simple treat. Here among the holes in the floor and the rats, we had a salon day. I smile, even now, just thinking about it. But Marta… Marta had the sweetest face as she admired her pink nails with butterfly decals (Thanks Lynne Hartke!).

Now when I get to Marta’s room I am greeted by a big smile.

Sometimes it is the simple things, things I feel only come with relationship…

When a visitor turns into a friend.