What I’m thinking in the night

Four years ago, Peregrine was present when our teenage neighbor went into labor. The young woman’s previous hospital childbirth had been so abusive that this time she insisted on giving birth at home attended by untrained local women.

Peregrine was with her at the birth and helped as she was instructed. The baby died. The mother was malnourished and underweight, any number of things could have led to the baby’s death. There will be no answers, no autopsy. Just, “the baby died.”

I cracked when I heard. A few months earlier my friend’s father had passed away while we were living in their home. I rushed in, attempted CPR, ran him to the hospital when I realized my efforts were futile, and there he was pronounced dead. There are always deaths in our community, but these two were sudden, close, with responsibility.

IMG_2384Uselessness. Failure. Despair.

The deaths didn’t come in isolation but as the culmination of a year of difficulty. Once we had gained enough language to understand what was happening in the lives of the people around us, we were beset by a stream of heartbreak – illnesses, abuse, broken relationships, failed dreams, and deaths.

With all that on the negative side of the ledger, the positive counterweight felt thin. We didn’t know if we were making an impact. We had moved from the world of privilege to solidarity with the poor in their world, but in their world the suffering continued as if we had never come.

We couldn’t leave, couldn’t abandon them in their suffering. But we didn’t know what us being there did. Was our friendship and emotional support even a drop in the bucket when they still died?

Later that year I was again thrust into the role of a first responder when a motorcyclist was knocked unconscious in an auto accident. We got him to the hospital and he lived. A few months later it happened again, another motorcycle accident. We got him into the vehicle to get him to the hospital but I didn’t hear how he ended up.

Just after that, when we were supposed to be on vacation, I was present when a tourist fell off of a mountain waterfall. For forty-five minutes I tried to reach him at the bottom of a suspended ravine and could not get to him. The emergency response team who came with ropes and climbing gear couldn’t even reach him for almost two hours. He was dead by the time they got there. That one hit hard, that drawn-out time when I was trying to reach him and could not and I knew that I was his only hope and no one else.

A few months later I was present at a fatal car crash. Just a week after that a man was electrocuted and fell off a building in front of me. Others got to each of those situations before me, there was nothing I could do to help. Part of me was glad not to have to be the one again.

IMG_0766The accumulation of these incidents weighed heavy, especially the young man on the waterfall. I began showing a trauma response whenever I heard a loud noise or tires screech. Having spent my life wanting to be there when bad things happened, wanting to be the one who could help, I now shied away. I began imagining accidents before they occurred, and praying that if they did happen, they would happen around the corner, when I was not around.

For a year there was a relative calm. Then the lives around us started falling apart again. One of the young women we were closest to got married off illegally at 17, we tried to get child protective services involved, the wedding happened anyway. Her sister got married off at 14, when I found out I was so distraught I made a scene at the wedding. I couldn’t sleep all night afterwards, just sat in our room and lamented what had happened. Nothing could be done, we had to live with it and support them as best we could. Two days later two girls in a vulnerable situation ran away. Crestfallen. Still no one has heard from them. The week after that a young teenager who was already in distress got kicked out and had nowhere else to turn. We provided a room for her as a temporary stopgap and within weeks realized that this young lady, Shadia, was now our foster daughter.

Within a month there was a family disaster in our community, a friend had a mental episode and trashed his home and only my last-second intervention kept him from ending up in jail. He stayed in my room that night, sleeping it off soundly while I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling, unable to get a second of rest as my mind tried to process what the fallout would be and how I could make things right. Then our foster daughter tried to run away, again only my last-second intervention stopped it. Another sleepless night.

IMG_1199.JPGThe next month my friend’s 13-year-old brother did run away. Police located him a week later in a city on the opposite side of the country. The stress of having to cross the country on a two-day standing-room-only train in order to retrieve him, coupled with numerous other family stressors, led my friend to have a psychotic breakdown.

For months the emergencies were a blur I cannot parse, five to ten crises a week at the peak. There were more runaways, more mental breakdowns, more relational catastrophes, more sleepless nights. I had the pain of reading a suicide note addressed to me. We were able to intervene. Twice I rushed Shadia to the hospital due to illness. Twice we had to commit my friend to the psychiatric hospital for a week at a time. My resilience was pressed to the edge. I crawled from one day to the next. At one point I prayed Lord, if you could just get one of them to next year, just one.

Hope was a hard thing.

Eight months into crisis mode, Peregrine called me from where she was lying on the side of the road, out of breath, speaking faintly.  She had crashed her bike and had a head injury. I rushed there fearing for her life. She ended up okay. Not to be outdone, a week later Shadia was hit by a motorcycle on her way to work and knocked unconscious. Again I rushed to the scene in fear. Though she was initially delirious, unable to remember the previous two weeks or form new short-term memories, within 4-5 hours her brain miraculously reorganized itself and she ended up with a full recovery.

P1010462That, gratefully, marked the beginning of sort of a respite. Over the next 18 months the “emergencies” relented. Shadia had a few panic attacks, relationship issues, lost her job twice, but 90% of the time it no longer felt like her life hung in the balance at every setback. My friend recovered from his ten-month manic episode and began to reintegrate into productive daily life, though at a diminished capacity. A different friend had their four-year-old son fall off a roof and sustain serious brain injuries, with his life handing in the balance for weeks. We covered the medical care for them, and by some miracle his little brain made a full recovery.

Has this been worth it?

Now I can point to things that I couldn’t yet see four years ago. We’ve engaged deeply in people’s lives. We’ve walked beside families in tough times. We have been emotional support to people for whom that was in short supply, and sometimes physical support, and sometimes financial support. Peregrine has worked hard to keep an NGO alive that has provided deep care to dozens of girls in difficult times, and Stranger has run a program that improved the education of thousands of people in the slums.

I don’t doubt whether it’s been worth it now. I don’t feel the same uselessness or failure or despair that emerged at times 3-4 years ago.

But the weight of the pain when we can’t do enough has never left.

Last month, when I was supposed to be on vacation, there was another death. Gunfire broke out, three men were shot, and I was the only one who could help. I couldn’t do enough. Everything I knew to do was not everything that was required and we got them into the care of the paramedics and to the hospital alive but one of them died soon after. His blood drying on my hands.

Some nights I lie awake and run through the options in my head, what I could have done differently, what I would do if it happened that way next time. I wonder if I did any good when the one man still died and when the other two men may have lived whether I was there or not. Peregrine says that my competence and care, emotional support and prayers during those forty-five minutes mattered to them, mattered to their families, that he died that much less alone.

I don’t know.

Some days I turn to food, or internet surfing and arguments, unable to write or concentrate in any meaningful way and instead focusing on quick-quick spurts of activity, running from one thing to the next to keep my mind occupied because I don’t want to shut it down, can’t shut it down. If I try to stop and go to bed I can’t stop, can’t stop thinking. At 3am or 4am I get tired enough to collapse into bed and fall asleep without having to think.

How many of these nights? Some nights I’ve seen the sun rise before I realized how late it was. Keeping my mind racing on politics or current events or social justice is the only option I come up with to avoid my mind racing on the disasters all around me.

I do know that I cannot stop being in these places where these things happen. I know too much, carry the burden. Perhaps I will again fail to save a life, again experience trauma, and the burden will increase. But if I left their lives I would still carry that burden till the end of mine, and a deeper regret knowing that I wasn’t there.

 

A story is told of Jesus and His disciples walking one day along a stony road. Jesus asked each of them to choose a stone to carry for Him. John, it is said, chose a large one while Peter chose the smallest. Jesus led them then to the top of a mountain and commanded that the stones be made bread. Each disciple, by this time tired and hungry, was allowed to eat the bread he held in his hand, but of course Peter’s was not sufficient to satisfy his hunger. John gave him some of his.

Some time later Jesus again asked the disciples to pick up a stone to carry. This time Peter chose the largest of all. Taking them to a river, Jesus told them to cast the stones into the water. They did so, but looked at one another in bewilderment.

For whom,” asked Jesus, “did you carry the stone?”

7 thoughts on “What I’m thinking in the night

  1. Mary A Atia

    Wow. I don’t really have any great words to offer, but I just wanted to thank you for sharing. You and Peregrine are doing great things, even if many days it does not feel like it. May God provide you peace during the difficult days. You are in my prayers.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. shar

    You’ve phrased this excellently. There aren’t really words I can use to explain this. And from my current place in a country and area where the biggest problem is drunken students, I struggle to imagine the ways these series events would have affected you. Sometimes I want to ignore all the world’s suffering because it makes my heart ache too much. Yet God is there in your restlessness and in the crises you continuously witness. Thank you for sharing these wise words.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Karen Vallaire

    You may not see the difference you make in people’s lives, you may feel small in comparison to the sometimes overwhelming need, violence, unfairness, and suffering you are witness to. But, I saw the children. I saw their eyes brighten when they sat with you, reading, learning, feeling special during the lessons they were given, feeling proud of their successes. You may not see it now, but each of them carry a spark in their hearts. They will remember the person, and persons, who cared enough to spend time with them, to teach them, to better their chances for access to higher education when their time comes. To me, this is incredibly important work and will make a difference in the outcomes for these children.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Yes, Stranger, “for whom did you carry the stone?” is an excellent question, and I assume the reason that quote is included in this post is because it is the question that you are asking yourself. Carrying it for yourself, or even for your neighbours, makes very little sense. But carrying it because Jesus asks you to – that is everything.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. When I think about all the incidents you’ve been witness to and involved in, I sometimes ask myself, “How does he come across so much trauma?” I wonder if its because you walk around more than most people? Or is it because you have somehow developed ‘eyes that see’ better than most of us, or could it be that God somehow had you in those places at those times? Or maybe a mixture of all of them?

    I don’t know. But I know your presence would’ve have been a comfort to at least some of those people and I know you inspire others to get involved when they might not otherwise. For this, I thank you!

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Thank you. And good question. Like you point out, I am walking around in crowded places a lot of the time, rather than being isolated in my car, which probably exposes me to more….I’ve also spent most of the last 17 years living in places that experience trauma more than most. And I force myself into the picture in many cases where it might have been a much less intense experience for someone who kept themselves at a distance (hearing gunshots two buildings over and rushing out rather than staying in the home, hearing a car accident down the street and running to the scene rather than continuing on my way, etc.).

    I very much want to believe that God had intended for me to be there and my presence was a blessing…sometimes I feel so useless that’s it’s hard to believe that. But some of the circumstances (not all of which I’ve shared here) are so profound that it feels like it almost has to have been the case.

    Like

  7. Pingback: Entertaining the community – Stranger in a Slum

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