Small Comfort
2005-08-08 08:37:01.0
By Gail Warner, C&MA worker in Mali
"Don't cry. She was only a child."
When I went to greet my friend Elizabeti after the death of her three-year-old daughter, Abigail, these were the words of "comfort" her neighbor offered.
I was not in Mali when Abigail succumbed to her year-long battle with tuberculosis of the hip bone. I had last seen the girl several days before I left for the United States to work on the bookkeeping system for The Alliance’s medical ministries in Mali.
Abigail's condition had improved after I enrolled her in the government's tuberculosis program. The tuberculosis program in Mali is organized to protect the population from the spread of the disease but not to cure a poor three-year-old with destructive tuberculosis. After a month, the nurses had cut back on Abigail's treatment, and soon her symptoms had returned. I had been shocked at her condition and hurt as I saw her crying. Before leaving, I prayed that God would remove her pain miraculously—whether by healing her earthly body or by giving her a new heavenly body.
Meanwhile, I was determined to search for the appropriate tuberculosis medicines to bring back from the United States. However, soon after arriving in the United States, I received word that Abigail had died. God had answered my prayer, though not as I’d hoped.
Now, a month after I received that sad news, I sat with Abigail's mother in Mali. Initially, I wondered whether she was angry with me for prolonging her daughter's life. She didn’t greet me but just sat as I entered the house. Then I realized that her lack of words was not from anger but because she was working hard to hold back tears.
"Don't cry. She was only a child." How could her neighbor say such a thing? I could imagine Elizabeti's thoughts going to her active little toddler, who often had been seen wandering down the path in the village to visit the neighbors' homes. To watch her little body waste away, soothe her as she cried in pain, to treat the ulcers that formed from lying still—this is the pain of motherhood in Mali. It reminded me of a recent report that named the country the "Worst Place in the World to be a Mother."
As I sat crying with Elizabeti, I was reminded of why I had returned to Mali: to work on the development of the C&MA’s Koutiala Hospital for Women and Children.
The neighbor's words only strengthened my resolve.
Mali