We buried Mcolisi yesterday. The past three days have been some of the most exhausting, most emotionally difficult, and most incredible days of my life.
It started on Monday when Traci and I went early in the morning to take Mcolisi (also known as Moses) to the hospital in Manzini. His persistent cough wasn’t getting better, and we wanted the nutritional specialist to advise us about treating his malnutrition. After some lab tests, x-rays, and many long, hot hours, the doctor confirmed that he had pneumonia and said we needed to admit him. Traci had to be somewhere after lunch, so I spent the rest of the day in the children’s ward with Moses. There aren’t enough nurses to provide care for all the patients, so we had to have someone else stay at his bedside 24 hours a day. We had only begun to worry about how we were going to work that out.
It was a long rest of the day for me. I didn’t have much with me since I hadn’t been expecting to stay long. I sat on a wooden bench in front of Moses, crowded by other mothers watching their babies. Aside from showing which bed to put him in, the nurses didn’t give any direction, so I was left with many questions. I finally managed to get one of them to hook his IV up and show me where to get milk for him. As a nurse, it was good for me to understand what it feels like to be a family member overwhelmed with concerns, since I’m usually on the other end.
Later that night two girls from the FYM team came to take my place. Part of me really wanted to stay the night, but I figured I would go home, rest, and come back better prepared the next day. I went to bed early and slept hard. I woke up at 5:15 in the morning when Molly’s phone rang. Somehow I just knew. Even before I heard the voice on the other end- “Moses just died.” I can’t really describe how I felt just then. It wasn’t shock, denial, or even sadness. I just sank into the reality of it- “This is it. This is the answer to our questions about what happens next in his life.”
We dressed quickly and went to the hospital. I tried not to look at the bed where I’d last seen him as we walked past. We went down the hall and caught a glimpse through a doorway of his familiar baby blanket on a table. I went over and carefully unwrapped it, and then stood there and just sobbed. I knew he was dead, but part of me kept expecting to see his chest rise, or his face to make one of its silly expressions.
His mother was notified, arrangements were made, and we drove back to Nsoko that night to attend the 6am funeral the next morning.
He was buried in the middle of a hot, dry, dusty field. It was a surreal experience. Of the many ways we imagined his life ending up, this was not one of them. We had prayed over him so much, and I knew that his life would be greatly significant, that he would not be another child who dies in obscurity in Africa.
As I watched them lower his tiny casket into the ground, and heard the dirt falling on it, I knew that he wasn’t one of those children. His life was only 7 weeks long, but in that time he has touched the world. Those of us who knew him, held him, and loved him deeply have been forever changed by his life. Every person who saw him or heard his story has been affected.
It’s been hard to experience this kind of loss, but the Lord is teaching me so much through it. I know that this kind of pain is something that I have to go through. Even Jesus experienced loss and grief. It also creates in me a sense of urgency. How many more babies died in Swaziland alone today? How many more mothers are sick and dying, leaving helpless children to fend for themselves? How many families are starving because drought has killed their crops? These are things that I see everyday now. And it’s hard. But if there’s anything I can learn from Mcolisi’s life, it’s this: I can make a difference. If a tiny, sick, helpless baby can change my world in 2 weeks, how many people’s worlds can I change?
I really encourage you to also read these blogs by my team!
The Life and Death of Moses- by Seth Jr.
This Is Our World- by Aaron
