Adieu

It was a Sunday.

The air was humid; the sky was gray.

He came on a Sunday.

The visit was brief; he breathed his last on a Tuesday.

Summer of 1984

All summer long, I heard about my cousin's strange illness but I did not see him. I was in Port-au-Prince; he was in Anse-Rouge. Though not too far geographically speaking, those two cities might as well be as far apart as Tokyo is from Toronto. Since my family lacked the funds for all eight of us to pay him a visit, Manmie and an older sibling of mine made the trek to see him in the middle of the summer.

Trusting in the fervency of Manmie's prayer life, I was convinced that she would come back with news of healing.

Why would it be otherwise?
After all, God does listen to our pleas and does answer our prayers.
Manmie is a righteous woman -- I was certain God would heal my cousin.

Yet, upon their return, Manmie and my older sibling brought to my family a very odd report -- my cousin's disease had no name and, therefore, no diagnosis and no prognosis. There was no cure, no plan for my cousin's healing or recovery.

What?
What could that possibly mean?
Would he actually . . . I mean, die at such a young age? 

I never once entertained the thought that I should be concerned about losing someone so beloved, so vibrant, so young. I simply thought an unusual ailment was afflicting his body for a while but, in time, he would be healed and I would see him again.

I did see him again.
He was not healed.
I did see him again.
He was quite changed.


October 1984


On a stifling Sunday afternoon, I was home alone when an urgent knock interrupted my reverie. It was the watchman from the nearby campus announcing that my cousin and two companions had just arrived and they needed help with their luggage. I barely thanked him and was on my way -- I couldn't wait to see my cousin.

I saw him . . .
. . . and, unfortunately, time froze.

Sick.
Scary.
Scrawny.
Skeletal.


Those were the words that came to mind as my eyes fell upon the bony and unflattering frame of the once sturdy and strong cousin of mine.

Sadly, his eyes picked up on my horror and shock (to my shame).

"Lou, don't you give up on your cousin now!"

As those words fell from his lips, I regained my composure and helped as best I could. Moments later, the rest of my family returned home. Manmie was soon at his bedside, helping him, praying with him, talking to him, reading to him. We all took turns being with him.

Happily, he said, "I know that I will recover, now that I am here in this house of prayer."

"Surely, he will recover," I thought.
I trusted so completely in the power of Manmie's prayers.

When Monday came, Manmie took him to see our family doctor and the trip was too much for him. Exhausted and depleted of any remaining strength in his body, he came home in the afternoon and I could tell that his condition was worsening by the hour. Manmie told us what the doctor said and I braced myself. That night, my cousin did not sleep a wink.

On Tuesday morning, I stayed behind while my siblings went to school. I stood behind the door  looking into the room where my cousin lay on the bed. Manmie and my uncle were both holding him when he began to talk -- his voice took on a silvery tone.

He asked Manmie to pray and as she was praying, he breathed his last.

I was no stranger to death.
I had seen strangers die before.
I became estranged to death.
I had never seen a loved one die before.

My cousin's death affected my faith more than I allowed any other family member to know. The pain was so intense that it grew more and more difficult for me to trust in God. Why did God not answer Manmie's prayers? Does prayer really work? Why would God take someone so young, so kind, so compassionate, so wonderful? What is the purpose of such a loss? How could I ever let him go?

I could not make sense of my jumbled, confused thoughts in the months that ensued. In fact, it took years and years of maturing to realize that my cousin's brief stay was a special gift that taught and nurtured my heart. His sickness, brief visit, and death were treasures placed within my heart by God to reveal His truth to me:

God wants me to see people through His eyes, not through mine.
God wants me to trust in Him, not in the power of Manmie's prayers.
God wants me to learn that each illness is a teaching opportunity for wisdom.
God wants me to view each relationship as a brief visit filled with patience and tender care.
God wants me to engage in helping the sick through prayer, words of encouragement, and love.
God wants me to realize that death comes unannounced and uninvited to family, friends, and foes.
God wants me to know that His calling my loved ones home does not mean He doesn't care about me.

So, long after my cousin died, I finally learned to bid him adieu, welcoming God's peace into my heart.

Father, I thank you for the gift of the loved ones You have placed on my path. May I accept that You love them more than I ever could. Help me to learn all You want to teach me through their brief sojourn on earth and may I walk ever more confidently with You till the end of my days! Amen.