On a sunny Wednesday morning I found myself standing in front of the gateway of the Good Shepherd Hospital. This moment marked the first time a Kylstra had been here in about 30 years. I tried not to expect a life altering experience or the cliché, Hollywood version of a journey into your past. On the ride here, I had felt a rising feeling of excitement and adventure. My mind spun contentedly as the raw, breathtaking landscape of rural Swaziland swept by. The hundred kilometer journey took me from the crowded city of Manzini to the small town of Siteki perched on a mountain. And now here I was hoping to find a piece of your past.
The guard greeted me with a quick nod and a wave. A sprawling, busy hospital lay before me. I saw signs for an eye clinic, maternity ward, emergency room, counseling and a host of other medical services. Temporary trailers were parked outside the main building. Groups of people stood in various lines. I wandered through trying to imagine what it looked like when you were here. I tried to take the entire scene in. Had you walked beneath the trees overhead on your breaks? Did this remote hospital feel as familiar and foreign to you as it does for me now? Is this place the reason you fell in love with Swaziland and the Swazi people?
After an initial lap to acquaint myself with the hospital I searched for someone who might remember you. It was a lot to ask, but I had come all this way searching for a part of you. The first man I queried had only been here five years. His worn countenance reflected experiences had elsewhere. A couple of nurses later I found myself being led by an older nurse through the halls you once walked. Her eager description of the hospital as it once stood showed her sympathy for my mission. Her time here had begun a couple years after you had left. I was grateful for her assistance and knowledge. She told me much of how the hospital has grown in the years following your departure.
This sprawling complex had once been composed of a single hospital building with a couple of houses for staff and a chapel. Now five hundred patients are seen each day. The maternity ward can hold over fifty women instead of a handful of expecting mothers. Entire wings have been added to the long, narrow building you once knew so well. Good Shepherd Hospital receives patients from all over Swaziland. As I walked through the hallways, I remembered another hospital you had worked at. The familiar smell of sweat, bleach, antibiotics, and freshly washed sheets filled my nostrils. Each room greeted me with a fresh wave of memories. Patients lay in beds and watched me walk past. Unknown Siswati words drifted and echoed off the walls.
There were moments when I caught myself trying vainly to find the legacy you left behind. No plaques with your name on it. No photographs of you on the wall. No one who could tell me about the woman you were back then. Perhaps if I had come here sooner I would have found something, anything to mark the hole you must have made when you left this hospital. As I signed the guestbook, I wished I could have flipped back and found your name written in your nearly undecipherable, doctor's handwriting. I exited the hospital and walked once more toward the gate. I bid goodbye to the nurse who had given me a tour and turned to head back to Manzini.
I tried to make sense of what I had just seen and felt on the walk back to the bus stop. The urge to look back and capture one more glimpse often overpowered me. Had I missed something? Had I missed you? I didn't feel the satisfaction I expected to feel. The experience felt incomplete. Where was your legacy? What had you left behind here to mark your passing? Everywhere I had looked I was reminded of the changes wrought by time. The growth and expansion of the hospital had left a place I scarce thought you would find familiar. You have travelled much in the years since you were last here. You experienced years of joy and sadness. You found love, raised a family, and found new purpose in each chapter of your life. You lived in countries far beyond your homeland, The Netherlands. Your life stretches out beyond the time spent here in Swaziland.
It is only now, days after visiting Good Shepherd that I understand what I missed during my visit. In my attempt to retrace your steps, I forgot to take a step back and see what had been right before me all this time. You were here all along. Your legacy reflected every time I look in a mirror or a family photo. Of all the lives you have touched, the places you have been, and the work you have done, nothing reflects you more than my sisters and I do. No photograph or plaque or person could tell of the legacy you have created more than we can. Although years may pass by and surroundings change, your legacy will be carried on for generations to come in every kind word, loving embrace, and wisdom shared.
Thank you Mom for being who you are! Always know that I love you and will never ever want another mother 😉
