I sat down and took a deep breath
as the large rocking chair moved back and forth. It’s my favorite place to sit
at Carolina’s house. I was ready
to relax after a long day-trip to the capital when Delia came over looking a
bit distraught. She explained that
the mother of our youngest girl was dying. We knew the mother was sick, but we had gotten news that
there was a good chance she would not make it through the night, and she had
been moved to the hospital.
She looked at me and said, “what
should we do? Should we go to the hospital?” Immediately my heart sank. I had gone from a great day full of
laughter with my co-workers, to a mother taking her last breaths.
I told her I didn’t know what to
do. We had no transportation, as Delia’s son had taken her motorcycle to a
friend’s house. Delia said it
would take 45 minutes on foot to walk there, and our little one is only
five. Not to mention that our city
of La Vega has the biggest Carnival celebration in the country. Walking in the dark at 8pm through the
streets did not sound like a great idea. But her mom was dying. What other
choice did we have?
Delia
and I left her house almost immediately and walked to our safe house/school,
Nueva Esperanza, where our little girl was spending the night. As we walked up I asked Delia, “Does she
know her mother is dying? What does she understand?” Delia replied, “She knows she’s sick, but she doesn’t know
quite how bad.”
We
walked up to the house and met up with our house mom, Yaritza. She told us that
her sister’s fiancé was at the church down the block and he had a van we could
take. When we walked up to the
church he came out jumped in the van and drove us to the hospital. I sat staring out the window with my
hand on our little one’s leg. It
was the only thing I could think to do to comfort her at that moment. In reality I think it comforted me more
than her, as she still wasn’t understanding the severity of the situation.
As
we pulled up to the hospital, people were lying on the sidewalk in agony, and
others were having a drink. Some were laughing and talking, while others were
silent. We walked in the front
door only to be stopped at a gate with a man standing watch. I had our little one in my arms as
Delia and Yaritza tried to talk our way passed him. They started explaining the situation to him, but I
didn’t want the little one to hear so I turned around and walked back towards
the door. I started whispering
little words into her ear as I held her to make sure she didn’t hear any
details that she did not have to hear. Over my own voice, though, I could still hear Delia
saying, “Look! This is her daughter! She needs to see her mom!” Less than five
minutes later we were told to move quickly and quietly down the hall.
Up
one flight of stairs and around a few corners, we arrived in the intensive care
unit: four large room of people wailing in agony, curled up in a ball, less
than 5 feet from the next person.
I stood outside as Delia and Yaritza searched and searched for her
mother. I didn’t know what to do, so still holding our little one, I started to
sing. The only song I know in Spanish that she knows is, “Si tienes fe como un
granito de mostaza…” (If you have the faith of a mustard seed, you can move
mountains.) So I sang it. Over and over, rocking her back and forth, wondering
what she was thinking.
A
nurse noticed our panicked looks and asked who we were looking for. Not one
minute later she picked up a notebook and saw that she had been moved to a
different part of the hospital, but no one was allowed to see her. Delia continued to explain that this
little one needed to see her mama just one last time. And as she continued to
talk, I continued to sing. I remembered that I had taught her the lyrics to
a song by Jesus Culture that is simple enough to remember. “Fill me up, God,”
the song repeats over and over. She started singing with me, and my heart
started racing. God, fill her up! Be with
this little one. Comfort her.
Not
another five minutes and we were jogging down the hall into another part of the
hospital to find her mama. As I
stood in the hallway once again while Delia had to talk our way into the area,
I ran out of songs that we both knew. The only song that came to mind was,
“Saviour, He can move the mountains, my God is mighty to save, He is mighty to
save. Let your light shine, and let the whole world see! We’re singing for the
glory of the risen King!” So I sang it. Over and over.
Minutes
later Delia came down the hall and warned us, “They don’t want to let the
little one in. They're saying it dangerous for her, but they will let us in for
just a minute. We cannot touch anything. She can’t leave your arms, her feet can’t touch the
floor.” In the midst of trying to
figure out why it was so dangerous, I noticed her arms tighten around me.
Choosing to leave my questioning until later, we headed in.
Her
mom was curled into a ball wrapped up in a stark white blanket. No one else was
in this larger room except her sister who was sitting in another bed keeping
her company. Her mom smiled when
we entered, and the little one got excited and grabbed me tighter. Her face
always lights up when her mama is near.
She waved to her and her mom greeted her. Not 30 seconds later we were
told we had to leave. They said
good-bye, and as we turned to leave I told her, “tell her you love her.” She
turned said, “te quiero mama.” Her mom smiled and told her she loved her as
well. And with that, we left.
As
we headed outside, I handed the little one off to Yaritza and walked off to the
side. Delia was talking to Joy on the phone and Yaritza gave a wave to the man
who drove us to bring the van up.
I walked off a few steps into the darkness and took a few deep breaths.
I was choking back tears when I saw a man who was unconscious being carried into
the hospital by his two friends. It was then that I lost my composure and let
the tears roll down my face.
What
if that was my mother? What if that was the last time she will ever see her? But
what bothered me the most was, What did
her mother think as she saw her daughter leave in the arms of an American girl?
No one can ever replace your mama;
did she think I was trying to replace her? Did she feel shameful? Guilty? Or
was she comforted that her baby was safe?
These questions I knew I would never know the answer to.
We
loaded into the van and headed for home. I felt numb. I had barely enough time
to process anything and we had already left the hospital. As I looked out of the window all I
could hear were the loud voice and music from the chaos of Carnival in the
streets of our city. I continued to hum the lyrics to Saviour, He can move the
mountains…
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Since Saturday, her mama has actually improved. Joy went to visit her again and said she looked better than last week, although she is also on medicine to mask the pain now. Her mama has been eating more regularly now which is also a good sign. Please keep our team in your prayers as we try to support the mother and our little one through this time.
