Stories - Joseph

I could only hear one side of the phone conversation this morning but I knew it wasn't good. Jean was speaking to Thomas, the father of our 12-year old patient Joseph. She hung up the phone and just left the office. I knew Joseph had died...and I hadn't even got to meet him yet.

Joseph died yesterday (Monday) and was buried the same day. I find this very difficult to comprehend. In the U.S., when someone dies, we usually have a funeral where everyone can view the body and can say their good-byes. That is actually a luxury that requires money. I never thought of it as a luxury before.

In Liberia, people who have money only have money for real essentials, like food. They don't have money to keep a loved one who has passed away in a mortuary while funeral preparations are being made. People must be buried here very quickly (for obvious reasons). And so Joseph was buried the same day he died, before any of his family members could travel to Monrovia to say their good-byes.

Another luxury we have back home is a casket. Here the cost of a casket is far beyond what any ordinary person could ever expect to pay. They do have cemetaries here - the difference is that the body is buried in the hole in the ground without a casket and without a headstone. Sometimes they will place flowers. I felt sad wondering if anyone would visit Joseph's grave and how would they know where to find him.

We went to visit the family after Thomas called. It's been raining buckets here so we had to park the car a ways from the house and navigate our way through mud and water to get there. Because there is always so much flooding, many people have already put out concrete blocks, tires, etc. to make pathways to walk on and fortunately, this awkward path existed. We worked our way through a housing area that I can only describe as looking like the homeless camps we see back home. These houses were made of four tall sticks and then some raggedy tarps thrown over the tops. Everyone lives in poverty here but this seemed especially harsh.

But we finally reached Thomas' house and were welcomed in, as we always are. And as always, all the neighbors came to see what we were doing. There's really very little you can say during this kind of heartbreak except I'm sorry...and that's what we did. As my friend Gary told me, we usually say things to make ourselves feel better or less uncomfortable. I wished I could take away their heartache but I knew there were no words that could do this. We prayed for them and they were so grateful for our interest in them and their son...as if we were someone special. I was so humbled.

And then we left with a promise to return. We also left them with a 60 pound bag of rice. In this country, when someone dies, family and friends come to visit from all over the country. The family is then expected to feed all these people who come which is a very difficult burden. So Mercy Ships provides the rice. There will be some sort of a memorial for Joseph once all the family has a chance to travel to Monrovia.

Here is a photo of Joseph and Thomas about one month ago. I can see that Thomas was already sad. He did say today that he is happy that Joseph is no longer suffering. And that's what we hold on to.

He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever. Rev. 21:4