Oh, there is Hope!

I like the analogy of God shaping us like a piece of soft clay. No matter what we turn out to be, His finger prints are on us. Some of the events in my life seem to be more forming than any other regular time. Last Wednesday was one of those days. I woke up to the sound of eager mission team members preparing for the day. I am not a get up early person and almost decided to snooze a little longer but for some reason I did not and slid down the ladder that connects my bed to the floor. I dressed and stuck my head out in the cool morning fog that awaited me outside. Almost instantly the laundry lady came to me and her face showed a lot of concern instead of the bright smile she usually has for me. Tears were in her eyes and she asked me to come along quickly to see Cardouche, a family member of her, because he was ill. I was glad that we had a doctor on the team so I did not have to do this alone. I pulled Doug from behind his breakfast that he was enjoying with most of the other team members. We quickly followed the lady who walked ahead of us taking a narrow path leading to Cardouche’s hovel. The family had always been poor as dirt. We ducked into the little house and it took our eyes a moment to get used to the darkness inside. There on the floor, outstretched and seemingly unconscious was the sick man. For some reason or another, the family had laid him on the dirt floor the night before. We picked his body up and laid it on the only bed in the house. His pulse was erratic and all over the place. His breathing was labored and rattling. It was clear that he was about to expire if nothing was done. He might have had a heart attack or suffered of congestive heart failure but it was impossible to determine that on the spot. We decided he had to go to the hospital which in Haiti is easier said than done. First and for all the family had no money, not even a penny. Transportation would cost money, not to think about the expense of being in the hospital. This was most likely the reason he was still home. The family hoped that we would take care of the expenses. I decided we would take care of the situation. Something had to be done quickly. We hurried back through a small crowd of curious neighbors. I asked Jeff, the driver for the orphanage to get the truck and come with me. In the mean time I went back and talked with the wife and son of the sick man. Jeff showed up shortly thereafter but was not driving into the garden of the little house and waited on the road. Cardouche had to be carried to the truck but just at that time nobody seemed to be able to help. I reached over the bed and picked him up but although he was a skinny man he was tall and must have weighed well over a hundred pounds. I carried him out and about to hurt myself, I jelled out to one of the older orphan boys who was watching me from the road. He hurried over and helped me carry Cardouche to the truck.

Right then the family showed up and crowded in the back seat with the sick man. Pauluis our director appeared out of nowhere and slid in the cab as well. As careful as one can drive over the bumpy Haitian roads, Jeff tried to get to the hospital as quick as possible. The sick man moaned and groaned constantly. About halfway the hour long trip, he started to talk and it was clear that he was seeing things. “Papa, papa, papa” he cried out followed by as much more soft and reverend voice saying “Jezi, Jezi”!, (Jesus, Jesus) I have thought long about this and whatever the explanation, I am sure that dying people are in a state of mind where they seem to be between this life and the hereafter.

We reached the hospital and got a gurney to wheel him into the emergency room. The reason I know that it was the emergency room was because it was written on the wall. Not because anything inside gave me a hint.

When he was laying on a bed inside everyone seemed to be busy talking to the nurse and I had a minute alone with Cardouche who seemed now far gone. Long time ago, when my dad was dying in the hospital and unconscious,he seemed to be very encouraged when a preacher read him the passage of John 15 where Jesus said he was going to prepare a room for us in heaven. I leaned over the bed and whispered the same thing in Cardouche’s ear and I was thankful for God teaching me Creole. I will never forget his reaction. From the depth of unconsciousness his voice was very clear and outspoken! “Wi, Wi”! (yes, yes) he said and it seemed to confirm something he was very aware of at that moment. After that he was just as far gone as ever and from what I know he never came to anymore.

The next morning when we heard the news of his death, the family asked again for help to get him back home. We had planned to go out with the team to do a clinic in the mountains and the truck would be needed for that. I just knew that our plans were about to fall apart if things were just left to happen. I quickly decided to go along and make sure that the process would move expeditiously. When arrived at the hospital things got difficult. I had expected that the body would at least be in a pine box or so, but that was not the case. Apparently when you are that poor in Haiti you are just on your own.  The orderlies laid the body wrapped in a dirty sheet in the bed of the truck. There were two knots in the sheet, one over the face and one over the feet with the toes still sticking out. The family put a pillow under the head. What an effort in futility.

We started the truck and at the last minute all the family members crowded in the cab. No one was sitting with the dead man. This is Haiti, fear of death all over.

The drive back was very upsetting to me. I know the dead man was not feeling the rough ride but it hurt my sense of decency. Dead people are not supposed to bounce in the back of a truck and arrive huddled in a corner. That’s not right.

As soon as we got within hearing distance of the house the wife started wailing. The windows were down and the wail was quickly taken over by the neighborhood. In Haiti this is a form of sympathy with the family. It is very common that the wife as well as other female family members get completely hysterical doing this. The wife had to be held down after she was going bonkers in the yard next to the house. What a difference with the ride back home when I had heard her just softly crying and although I know it is part of the custom it unsettled me very much. When unloading the corpse I had to hold back my tears. The suffering of these dear people was so clearly visible and I felt powerless.

We paid for a simple casket and the next day half of the village followed the procession walking down the dusty road to the cemetery. Things were as they are supposed to be.

Now a few days later I can look back and see how every family goes through these circumstances at some point. Whether rich or poor we all will die one day and our family is going to be shocked by it. We might have a decent funeral or we might end up shoveled in a mass grave like so many Haitians were after the earth quake. But what is essential is to know that Jesus went ahead to prepare a room for us. I have seen my dad’s face and I witnessed Cardouche’s reaction. They both confirmed to me what they knew to be certain. He is alive and waiting for us.