To remember a child

There have been several stories over the last few weeks that have gripped my heart; stories of life and stories of death; stories of successes and stories of failures; stories that leave the soul at peace and stories that haunt the soul forever. The following story will never leave my heart or mind. I cannot erase the images even if I wanted to, for this little one's life is too precious to be a forgotten one.

Last Wednesday, Jason and I spent the day at a nursing home visiting patients. Now, this home is primarily a nursing home for very ill adults. That day we learned a 9 year old boy was going to be admitted. He was HIV positive and his condition was listed as "failure to thrive secondary to severe malnutrition". Jason and I were busy attending to other patients as the nurses were busy admitting him. I caught a brief glimse of him. Small, scared, and almost lifeless. I also saw his family who had come to leave him and something unsettled in my spirit began to weigh on me. I had to look away, as my throat was tight from fighting back my instant reaction to cry.

After his admission, Jason and I got a chance to talk with the nurses and obtain his story. The little boy's name, I will call Tom (I feel it best to keep his name private). The family who had dropped him off was his aunt and uncle. Both of Tom's parents had died of AIDS. The reason Tom was brought to the care facility, was that he was too sick to care for at home and his aunt and uncle were working all day. He had a fever, thrush and nausea and he simply would not and could not eat. There was also no sufficient supplies to give him IV hydration, nutrition or antibiotics.

Tom was sitting in a wheelchair. He looked as if he was about 5 years old instead of 9. He could hardly support the weight of his small, emaciated body. He sat, staring at the floor and wore no expression on his face. A fly was buzzing around a small sore at the side of his mouth and he was too weak to notice or care. Jason and I went over and started talking to him. His eyes were on us, but they looked past any type of possible warmth or love we could offer. His stare was dead and hopeless. The nurse got him up to take him back to bed, and the grimace of suffering he displayed on his face, I will never forget. My throat was tight with pain. Jason and I followed the nurse to Tom's bed.

He lay there with his eyes closed; his body so small for such a large bed. We both held his hand and prayed. We prayed hard. I finally stopped fighting with my tears and just let them come. I didn't know what to do or how to pray or what to say. All I remember saying was, "please God, just help him, please". My words were stuck and my soul was wrestling and I felt like I couldn't breathe. Jason kept praying. After a few more minutes, Jason and I went outside, and I just sobbed. The pain and the suffering and the hopelessness that such a little person was enduring was absolutely wrong. All that seemed right was to see him living like a normal, happy little boy, who could go to school and run, play ball, eat ice cream, have campouts with his friends and family and grow up with health and strength and a beautiful future. Everything wrong and ugly held his life. It made me almost enraged.

Today, we went back. We hadn't been back for a week due to my own sickness and some other problems. My heart had been heavy for him all week. Today, we had brought some things for him and were eager to see if he had made any progress and if a miracle had happened. We sat in the office and got reports of patients who had died and ones who had gotten stronger and had been discharged. Nothing was mentioned of Tom. I almost hated to ask because I feared the answer would not be an easy one. I did, though. And, yes, the answer was far from easy and I felt like the wind was taken from me. Tom had died last Thursday, only 1 day after we had seen him. The nurses were able to obtain a little more information of his home life and by all appearances severe neglect was more or less the cause of his suffering. Little food was ever fed to him (in this case,not because it wasn't available) and he was watched on and off by a maid. Aunt and uncle were hardly involved as they both worked all day. Zimbabwe doesn't have adaquate social services to follow up on the case.

Sickening and unjust are the only two words that come to mind. The choices of adults determined the ruin of a life. This little boy was a victim of so much more than poor economics and lack of food. He was a victim of human selfishness to its ugly core. And, he was a victim of a preventable disease.

I wish I could give this story a happy ending. Unfortunately, Tom's is the story of others as well and an example of the grim reality of life and death. It is the reality that the choices we humans make effect far more than just ourselves. If it weren't for God in my life, I could easily make many of the same choices that so many do. I pray the choices I do make only serve to bring life to the innocent and helpless and not death and destruction.