Another Goodbye

Due to a mutiny somewhere between here and Germany concerning the internet service, we've been totally cut off from cyberspace for the last two weeks. Words can hardly express all that has happened since then, but since I can't figure out how to upload pictures then I suppose words will just have to suffice.

We lost baby Jessie.

Friday she was doing really well. Saturday morning we took her to the Falls with us. That evening we were dancing in the dining room. She was there with us, and her temperature dropped drastically. Then her breathing became unsteady again. She slipped back into a semi-conscious state.  Monday afternoon we put an NG tube back in because she had stopped eating.  Her eyes wouldn't close all the way.  Most of us went to the Boma that evening to eat traditional Zambian food.  Amy took the first shift with her that night. I came in at two, and I could tell by the way Amy was acting that she expected the worst. I fed Jessie through the tube and turned the TV on to keep me awake because I had left my alarm in my room. At about quarter after three, I woke up. She was more peaceful, but not in a recovering way. At 3:32am, she stopped breathing. Amy happened to get up about ten minutes later.  One of the other volunteers had become every bit as attached to Jessie as I was, so Amy went to wake him up.  I don't think I've ever been as grateful for companionship as I was in that moment. I really don't remember a whole lot more, but there was a lot of crying and hot tea involved.

The house is strangely empty without her, and so are my arms.  When her grandmother picked up her quiet little body for the last time, I watched part of my heart walk away with that tired old woman.  I'll never forget the sight of the grandmother and aunt walking into the distance down that dusty dirt road.

I've never loved anyone like that before. I fought so very hard to keep her.  When her tiny body was in my hands, there was nothing in the world more important. When she was in someone else's hands, I was itching to get her back. Every breath, every little squawk, every sigh was a precious gift.

The following are some excerpts pulled from my journal. I would have blogged, but the internet was down.

"And so the spot in my chest where my heart used to be stands aching and empty but for a few broken pieces and a desperate longing for what was. Shattered hope and strangled dreams. Anger. Desperate, unbridled, illogical anger, against a world where babies die from preventable disease...

She likes to be held. She likes to be cuddled close so she can feel your heart beat. She likes warm baths as long as she's in the water, but she shrieks like a banshee the moment she's taken out. Make sure she has both her bows-- the purple one, and the pink and white one. She can have her hands free now, free to explore and touch and learn.  She likes to ball her tiny little fists up on either side of the bottle while she eats.  And she doesn't like to wait when she's hungry or needs changed.  Now she can be clothed in brilliant white.  It will be beautiful on her. She'll look just like an angel.  She already did.  She really likes to be sang to. I should have sang to her more...


I love how she shrugs her shoulders and widens her mouth into that froggy old man smile. I love the feeling of her head in my hand and her curly hair like silk between my fingers, her long delicate toes and tiny fingernails, and those eyes! Those gorgeous, intelligent eyes! Deep as the ocean and with almost as much strength. Even the pockmark on her ear is precious, and the soft spot on her forehead, and the ridges all the way around her head, and the thin layer of soft black hair that velveted her entire body.  I remember the green birthmark on her shoulder and the fierce protectiveness I felt when I thought it was a bruise and that someone had hurt her. I love her perfect little freckled chin and her beautiful coffee-and-creme skin. I remember her fiery spirit. She fought every step of the way.  She snatched at the NG tube and clawed at the ARVs. If only she had fought the right things... I love how strong she can be when she has to, how a baby with no discernible muscles could suddenly push her entire body up to stand on her spindly legs in an effort to dodge the medicine headed towards her mouth. I even love her scars. They are perfect by connection. I love how tiny and delicate she was, how even newborn clothes swallowed her...

I woke up  and reached down to hold her firmly against my chest so I could sit up.  She wasn't there.  I want to scream...  I'm not sure if it would be worse to reflexively reach for her every time I wake up or turn around, or to stop reaching for her at all...

Once again, my memory fails me.  I feel these last precious memories slipping like vapor through my desperate clutching fingers.  Hanging her from a tree in a canvas bag at the falls to weigh her, dancing to "My Favorite Things," watching the stars-- even the hard memories, like the first feeding tube and stitch, reading the word "HIV" in her letter on the day she got here, and the persistant weight loss. I remember the very first time I saw her. Beatrice placed her in my arms and said, "Another little princess." That's when I fell completely and totally in love with her...
If love could keep a heart beating, she would still be here with us.  My little African princess. 

There's more of the same where that came from, but I'll spare you.  I promise I got to a much healthier place after a couple of days. 

If I seem a little mentally unstable right now, it's probably because I was. But you know what? If I could do it all over again, I would have loved her every bit as deeply. She deserved it. She was worth it.