i miss your tiny little nail-painted hand extended out as your crackly voice calls, "auntie," from your spot on the couch. i miss the days we snuggled -in your bed and on the couch- and you didn't cry out in pain every 5 minutes. i miss the sound of your laughter; I can't remember now how it sounds. i i miss Auntie Emily walking up to you and sayin, "Hey Wana Wana, how are you doing today?"
it's hard to believe you're actually gone.. actually forever gone. right now i just think you're sleeping away in your little bed down the hall. but your body's buried beneath the ground in the village 30 minutes away. the red mud still stuck to my flip-flops and dirt crusted on my toes. i can't bring myself to wash it off just yet.
when Mama Night said those words, "Zuena has passed away." the wind was knocked out of me. we sat in the bedroom, your Auntie Sara and Auntie Josey and Auntie Michelle and I- together but alone. the words starting to sink in, slowly. "Emily picked out a dress for her." those were the words that brought the first of many tears.
Walter laughed outside and Zak said, "Hey Mama," and Mweru clapped his hands and sang his special song. And it all felt so unreal. It still all feels so unreal.
We walked the muddy yard to the office to say goodbye one last time. Your Mama Aggie, she broke my heart. You were laying there in those pretty white sheets. I could've sworn you were just asleep. It was like at any moment you were gonna sit up and hold out your hand demanding, "Amazi," But you laid there, unmoving. I rubbed that little bald head of yours and gave you one last kiss on the forehead, your skin already cool on my lips.
The rest of the night happened in a bit of a blur… a movie playing, Debra throwing a fit, muffins being baked, friends bringing over dinner. I laid down in bed that night, thinking of all the things I'd wish I'd done… things I would've done, had I known our time on this earth together was coming to an end.
I wish I had held you more… towards the end, I let those whiny cries of yours scare me away from holding you as much as I used to; instead I just sat next to you and held your hand. But I wish I had held you in my lap, feeling the weight of you against my chest. I wish I had told you how precious you were. Obviously you knew it; but I wish I had told you more often just how special you were to me. I wish I had known you before you got so sick. I wish we had had more days together like the day of Ditte's birthday party. That was such a good day. I wish I had snuggled in your bed with you longer, staying for just one more minute and one more minute. But I'm learning because tonight, when Sam asked me to lay in his bed with him, the words almost passed my lips, "Buddy not tonight, I have water boiling on the stove." But I thought of you, and I told him to scoot his kabina over and we laid there, singing and laughing. I hope that made you smile.
There's no way you can really prepare yourself to bury the body of a person you love. I put my brown beaded necklace on in front of the bathroom mirror, staring back at the person in the mirror.. telling her she was about to go to Zuena's funeral. But it didn't feel real. We ate funfetti cake with chocolate frosting for breakfast that morning. I think your mamas thought we were crazy, cake IS a celebration thing after all. But it was one of those mornings you needed some comfort food, you know? And your death is a celebration of sorts- you are made whole and in the arms of Jesus now.
thunder rumbled lowly as we sat under the tarp in your village. your mama, she greeted each of us. your daddy hugged us. your siblings, man do they look like you. it was kind of creepy to see actually. one of your sisters has your ears, the other your face shape, another your nose. the rain poured as we sang, "Blessed Be Your Name," He is still good and He is still loving and He is still in control. And your death, it doesn't make my belief crack or shake or weaken; it makes me stand stronger and taller, all the more sure of it.
i'm sure the questions will come eventually… why did you have to suffer? why didn't God heal you here and now? what's the point of it all? but right now, there's just this peace, in knowing you are healed and made whole and in His presence. you were loved, baby girl, by so many people from so many different places. there wasn't a dry eye in our house last Wednesday. you loved greatly, and were greatly loved.
Rachel asked me where we went, that day of your funeral. i told her out. she asked where. i said to the village. she said, "ohh. to bury Zuena." And as much as i want to, I guess there's no shielding our little friends from everything, is there? She asked me five times where you were. Ditte wants to know when you're coming back again. Your little friends miss you already.
i don't know how life goes on from here… i sat in the kitchen this morning, talking and laughing. And I felt guilty. Because we buried your body and your bed is empty and life shouldn't keep going on without you. I don't want life to keep going on. But I know it has to. how do we keep living our lives but still remember you and keep you a part of us? there's got to be a way, to let you go but keep you alive in our hearts. I just don't know how to do that yet.
It still feels like you're here, like I'll walk out and see you laying on the living room sofa. In my mind I know you're not here, but my heart refuses to believe it. Life is either crying on the bathroom floor, realizing you are gone. Or it's busy playing with Walter and snuggling Debra and feeding Tasha, pretending like you're just in the other room sleeping. sometimes I pretend you are just in the other room, because it's easier to believe that. some moments i'm laughing with Isaac, staring at that adorable face of his. and the next, i'm sobbing over my pizza dinner at the kitchen table. there are late late nights where i wake up to music still playing through my earphones and the computer screen is still lit above my face. life is just weird.
I wish we had had more time together. I knew a goodbye would come eventually, but 3 months just wasn't enough time. I wanted to watch "Beauty and the Beast" with you, and Debra, and Rachel, and Ditte, and Fiona, and Tasha. We would've popped popcorn and spread blankets on the bedroom floor and had an all-girl's movie night. I bought "Beauty and the Beast" in town the day after your funeral. Debra and I watched it today, and it didn't even matter that it was 11 in the morning and sunny outside and I hadn't brushed my hair and we were watching a movie in our pajamas. Because I'm learning not to put off until tomorrow what could be done today. Because tomorrow isn't guaranteed for any of us. I'm sorry that it took you dying for me to get a better understanding of that- that none of this is forever grace, and that's why it's amazing grace.
we're surviving… it's taking lots of wearing-pajamas-until-noon days, and coffee, and Jesus, and hugs, and chocolate, and time. but you taught me that we serve a faithful Healer. and He'll heal these scars too. in His own way and His own time. and while we wait for that healing, we'll sing of how He is faithful and true.
i didn't want to turn to Him… I wanted to escape the hurt through books and movies with Debra and playing with kids and running errands. not because I didn't love you or want to remember you, but because in those moments i wasn't distracted, it hurt so freaking bad. i looked to people -back home and here- to heal the hurt and meet the need that we both know only He could. i walked to the Nile today- with iced tea and a towel and Bible in hand. I sat there looking at water so blue and birds flying and trees blowing in the breeze. i brought Him my heart and sang His praises and thanked Him for the time you and i had together. and i learned that grief and joy go hand in hand.
i didn't want to post this. these intimate details and thoughts. i wanted to keep them in the quiet dark- between just me and you and the Lord. it didn't feel right, to share this with anyone else. but He whispered to trust him and to share it all. because He's got plans greater than you or I. so i'll stand and trust and testify. because He has been faithful, every step of the way. i know you know how His constant grace has carried us and has been enough for us so far, and will continue to be enough. and there's a world to needs to see and hear and know that truth and hope.
i want to be a woman who "in the wake of loss, can think of nothing less than falling at her Master's feet." I want each step, each pound of my heart as I run to Him to bring glory to His name. i want to honor Him with my faith and my life. i want a watching world to be drawn closer to Him through all this. and so i'm posting the most intimate of thoughts in hopes that He'll use these words for the sake of His glory. i prayed it on that walk back from the Nile, begging that these words I was going to write would be used by Him. that they wouldn't be mine, but His.
we miss you, baby girl. we'll be missing you until we see you again. we ache and we hurt and we grieve. but we don't 'grieve like the rest of men who have no hope'. because we know where you are and Who you're with. and we can't even begin to imagine or comprehend it, but we know it's a beautiful place to be. our hearts hurt for us. but for you, we're rejoicing.
do you know you changed the world? people who have never met you prayed for you. people from an ocean away wept at news of your passing from this life to the next. your tiny, spunky spirit changed and is still changing lives even now. you brought us closer to His heart and showed us another piece of Jesus. thank you- for changing us and teaching us and loving us. thank you for the snuggles and the laughs and the sassy-ness and even the whiny cries. we are forever grateful to have gotten the chance to know you. thank you for changing my world.
we'll meet you there, sweet girl. we'll meet you there.
photo credit: Ekisa ministries
