The child was true to her word. The next several weeks, I got up early, prepared breakfast, showered and dressed and then made my way down to the gazebo. And everyday, she arrived, equipped with food and water, and love. In fact, the puppy thrived under her care and attention. His initial bedraggled, emaciated and barely-alive appearance slowly gave way to a round, fluffy, energetic ball of fun.
I watched the child, her name was Raphaela, as she finally deigned to inform me, patiently and lovingly nurse the puppy back to health. She fed him, and bandaged his wounds. Towards the end of the second week, we thought it safe to bathe him and I produced a little tub and filled it with warm water. Raphaela serenely set about to scrub away the grub and gore. He was initially tolerant of her ministerings; he stretched out easily on her lap, allowed her to lift a leg here, and to flip an ear there, and at times, all but purred his satisfaction, as she stroked and smoothed his broken places. He even gave the appearance of dozing off. I think this was when he remembered that he was an independent hound, one who didn’t need the help of humans and he started to chafe and whine and attempt to wiggle his way to freedom. I think it was the indignity of being wet that got him. It also didn’t help, I’m sure, that we were laughing at him and his antics. He finally succeeded in climbing down from her lap, looking more like the drowned rat we initially thought him to be, hair sticking out in every which direction. He shook himself free of excess water and climbed up on one of the chaises to sulk.
I was fascinated by the maturity and understanding she displayed as she nurtured both his body and his spirit. She was patient and allowed him to dictate the pace of their relationship. I had expected her to display the impatience that is common for a child her age, but she moved only as fast as he was able to accept. I tried to introduce the topic of her family and where she lived several times, and each time, she either ignored me or changed the subject. I eventually gave up, figuring that she would share with me when she was ready. I actually expected her to arrive one mornings with a parent or older sibling in tow, but she always came alone.
Raphaela sang and talked to him constantly; she loved on and petted him as much as he was able to tolerate. The process was slow, but she eventually earned his trust. After awhile, she no longer had to coax him out of his hiding place. Oftentimes, he emerged from his hole and waited for her at the top of the steps of the gazebo as soon as he heard her voice coming down the path. He also found it easier to tolerate my presence but I was still pretty much ignored. The puppy tolerated my presence but his entire world revolved around Raphaela.
The puppy wasn’t the only one to thrive and flourish under her care and attention. For weeks following the funeral, I walked around in a fog, not really caring what happened to me and, at times, praying for the release that would allow me be with Micah and Kai again. As weeks turned into months, I spent much of my days sleeping. I couldn’t sleep at night and sat up for hours letting the tv watch me or counting the spots on the ceiling, anything to stop or distract me from thoughts of my family. I was uninterested in food, typically sustaining myself with coffee and stale crackers, usually in response to nausea. In the mornings, I got out of bed, just to move to the couch in the living room, where I stayed until I moved to a chair on the patio, where I generally remained until it was time to return to bed. I was a little more active once my mother and brothers started openly expressing concerns about my appearance and withdrawal, but I felt no sense of purpose and wandered aimlessly throughout my day.
However, since meeting Raphaela and the puppy, not only has the routine and structure of my day changed but my feelings and attitude has also undergone a transformation. The child not only met the puppy's physical needs, but she attended to his need for companionship, emotional reassurance and hope. Watching the puppy and child together, as they grew to love and depend on each other, set off a corresponding need in me. Where I previously had very little appetite, I’m now ready to eat up everything in the house. I entered the house one morning after leaving the child and the puppy in the gazebo, and suddenly that I was starving. I reached into the refrigerator and was surprised to find it empty except for a block of moldy cheese and a carton of what I suppose used to be milk; it was hard to see the liquid for all the yellow, congealed stuff on the bottom.
“Ugh,” I turned up my nose and gingerly picked up both items and tossed them into the trash. As I thought about my options, I felt energized. I found a discarded piece of paper and a pen and prepared a grocery list. I found that I was actually looking forward to rolling up and down the aisles of the local market and anticipating future meals I would be able to prepare. As I looked around the cabinets to identify other things I needed, I noticed the discarded dishes and pots scattered around the room. I quickly loaded the dishwasher and scrubbed down the counters. The more I worked, the more I absorbed the months and months of neglect around my house. My morning routine changed; each morning after leaving the gazebo, I returned to the house and began to set to rights things that I had been too depressed and fatigued to notice.
I also recognized the need to repair the damage I had inflicted on my family. I had been so consumed by my grief, that I neglected to see that my mother, brothers and other extended family members, had relationships with Micah and Kai, and were also hurting. I was humbled by the realization that, not one of them appeared to blame me or feel resentment that I was unable to grieve with them or allow them to share in my loss. I felt alone and abandoned and so, I shut down and abandoned them.
Several days a week, I made a point to visit with various relatives in the afternoons. I was particularly appreciative of my youngest brother Aaron, who, in his own contentious way, had attempted to break through my barriers. I spontaneously stopped by his office one afternoon for lunch. He was surprised and pleased to see me but accepted my presence there without question. We enjoyed a fun hour sharing a pizza he had delivered and catching up on the latest family gossip. As I prepared to leave, he stopped, pulled me towards him and engulfed me in a big bear hug. He softly kissed my cheek as he released me and whispered,
“Welcome back, sis.”
Repairing the relationship with my mother proved to be a little more complicated. Throughout this entire year, she has been steadfast, my most loyal supporter and defender. She may have secretly agreed with the complaints about my behavior, but she would not allow anyone to speak badly of me in her presence. I think I disappointed her in a very fundamental way, though, in my refusal to attend church and to renew my faith in God. I argued that she couldn’t possibly understand how I felt when she sensitively reminded me that she had buried her husband, my father, and had buried a stillborn baby before me, a daughter.
“How do you do it, mama?” I asked her desperately. “How do continue to worship a God who takes everything away from you?”
She pulled me down onto the sofa before speaking. She grasped my hands between hers and looked intently into my eyes,
“I get through it because I know who holds my future. I know that I will see them both again.” She continued, “My baby daughter and my husband both lay in the arms of Jesus. Micah and Kai are also resting there.”
“But mama, the future is meaningless to me.” I cried, sobbing out my despair, “That was destroyed and taken away from me a year ago. I need to hold my baby in my arms again, right now. I miss him so much! How could He have taken both of them from me, mama? How could He?”
“Honey, I don’t know.” She was now in tears too, “only He knows. Yes, He had the power to stop that accident but He chose not to. I don’t know why. I don’t have all the answers. God allows tragedy to touch our lives for lots of reasons. Perhaps He wants to strengthen your faith. Or maybe He intends for you to share this experience as a testimony to help someone else. I know I’m now in a better position to understand and support you, because baby, I’ve been there. But, don’t you see? God has never stopped loving you and has never once taken His hands off you. It may be hard to see Him in the middle of your pain and grief, but He has been here all the time.”
“Oh, mama,” I implored, I could feel that constant heavy weight that has taken up space in the center of my chest, shift at her words. She continued,
“Your time, our time, with Micah and Kai was a gift from God, treasure that, because honey, I do, every day. But last year, for whatever reason, God took them back into Him. Stand strong in your faith, Nandi and you can trust me on this, you will see them again. He is not punishing you.”
I fell into her arms, curled up in her lap and for the first time since Kai and Micah’s death, I cried. She stroked my hair and held me close to her as I cried out for the lives of my husband and child. I cried for the loneliness and despair I’d allowed to consume me over this past year. My tears washed away the anger and bitterness I had built up in my heart against my family and against God.
She held me until long after my tears dried and my sobs had eased. She held me as my breathing calmed and the tension in my body released. I believe that I may have slept for awhile, perhaps she did as well. When I finally stirred, she kissed my cheek, gave me another quick hug and then started threatening to put me back over her knee unless I agreed to stay to prepare a meal and then eat dinner with her. I laughingly agreed. We were good again.
The next morning, I followed my newly established routine and headed to the gazebo. The puppy was waiting, tail wagging eagerly, grinning, with his tongue lolling out, looking towards the path he knew Raphaela would take. I settled down on the chaise to wait while the puppy kept watch at the entrance. By noon, we were both forced to accept that she was not coming. The puppy abandoned his post and settled on the floor next to me. He jumped up to investigate every sound, ever hopeful that his beloved would arrive.
It bothered me, as it had numerous times before, that I could not call or drop by her house to assure myself that she was ok. I resolved to force her to tell me the next time she I saw her; barring that, I would simply follow her home. I approached the storage container of food we had left there in the gazebo and prepared breakfast for the puppy. He was none too happy that I was doing the honors today and refused to eat or drink. At first. That is, until the reality of the pain in his belly hit him. He then skulked over to the food, reluctance communicating itself to me throughout his entire body. He kept throwing resentful looks over his shoulder, I guess to remind me that he preferred to get his food from Rafaela, but would allow me to do it this one time.
Raphaela was a no-show for the next two days. Indeed, we never saw or heard from her again. On the morning of the third day, I arrived at the gazebo as usual, fed the puppy, who, by this time easily accepted me in my new role. I had walked through the neighborhood, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, without any luck. I even chatted with a couple of the kids I knew and asked them if they knew her or her family, but none recognized her description. I approached the bistro table, preparing to wait for the puppy to finish his breakfast.
“I think I’m going to take you with me to the house while we wait for Raphaela,” I said as he munched happily. It was then that I noticed a slip of paper on the table.
I absorbed the childish print first and smiled at the boxy letters drawn in crayons. However, my smile faltered and my heart lodged in my throat, as Micah's words registered in my brain.
“Daddy and I always take care of you.”
I watched the child, her name was Raphaela, as she finally deigned to inform me, patiently and lovingly nurse the puppy back to health. She fed him, and bandaged his wounds. Towards the end of the second week, we thought it safe to bathe him and I produced a little tub and filled it with warm water. Raphaela serenely set about to scrub away the grub and gore. He was initially tolerant of her ministerings; he stretched out easily on her lap, allowed her to lift a leg here, and to flip an ear there, and at times, all but purred his satisfaction, as she stroked and smoothed his broken places. He even gave the appearance of dozing off. I think this was when he remembered that he was an independent hound, one who didn’t need the help of humans and he started to chafe and whine and attempt to wiggle his way to freedom. I think it was the indignity of being wet that got him. It also didn’t help, I’m sure, that we were laughing at him and his antics. He finally succeeded in climbing down from her lap, looking more like the drowned rat we initially thought him to be, hair sticking out in every which direction. He shook himself free of excess water and climbed up on one of the chaises to sulk.
I was fascinated by the maturity and understanding she displayed as she nurtured both his body and his spirit. She was patient and allowed him to dictate the pace of their relationship. I had expected her to display the impatience that is common for a child her age, but she moved only as fast as he was able to accept. I tried to introduce the topic of her family and where she lived several times, and each time, she either ignored me or changed the subject. I eventually gave up, figuring that she would share with me when she was ready. I actually expected her to arrive one mornings with a parent or older sibling in tow, but she always came alone.
Raphaela sang and talked to him constantly; she loved on and petted him as much as he was able to tolerate. The process was slow, but she eventually earned his trust. After awhile, she no longer had to coax him out of his hiding place. Oftentimes, he emerged from his hole and waited for her at the top of the steps of the gazebo as soon as he heard her voice coming down the path. He also found it easier to tolerate my presence but I was still pretty much ignored. The puppy tolerated my presence but his entire world revolved around Raphaela.
The puppy wasn’t the only one to thrive and flourish under her care and attention. For weeks following the funeral, I walked around in a fog, not really caring what happened to me and, at times, praying for the release that would allow me be with Micah and Kai again. As weeks turned into months, I spent much of my days sleeping. I couldn’t sleep at night and sat up for hours letting the tv watch me or counting the spots on the ceiling, anything to stop or distract me from thoughts of my family. I was uninterested in food, typically sustaining myself with coffee and stale crackers, usually in response to nausea. In the mornings, I got out of bed, just to move to the couch in the living room, where I stayed until I moved to a chair on the patio, where I generally remained until it was time to return to bed. I was a little more active once my mother and brothers started openly expressing concerns about my appearance and withdrawal, but I felt no sense of purpose and wandered aimlessly throughout my day.
However, since meeting Raphaela and the puppy, not only has the routine and structure of my day changed but my feelings and attitude has also undergone a transformation. The child not only met the puppy's physical needs, but she attended to his need for companionship, emotional reassurance and hope. Watching the puppy and child together, as they grew to love and depend on each other, set off a corresponding need in me. Where I previously had very little appetite, I’m now ready to eat up everything in the house. I entered the house one morning after leaving the child and the puppy in the gazebo, and suddenly that I was starving. I reached into the refrigerator and was surprised to find it empty except for a block of moldy cheese and a carton of what I suppose used to be milk; it was hard to see the liquid for all the yellow, congealed stuff on the bottom.
“Ugh,” I turned up my nose and gingerly picked up both items and tossed them into the trash. As I thought about my options, I felt energized. I found a discarded piece of paper and a pen and prepared a grocery list. I found that I was actually looking forward to rolling up and down the aisles of the local market and anticipating future meals I would be able to prepare. As I looked around the cabinets to identify other things I needed, I noticed the discarded dishes and pots scattered around the room. I quickly loaded the dishwasher and scrubbed down the counters. The more I worked, the more I absorbed the months and months of neglect around my house. My morning routine changed; each morning after leaving the gazebo, I returned to the house and began to set to rights things that I had been too depressed and fatigued to notice.
I also recognized the need to repair the damage I had inflicted on my family. I had been so consumed by my grief, that I neglected to see that my mother, brothers and other extended family members, had relationships with Micah and Kai, and were also hurting. I was humbled by the realization that, not one of them appeared to blame me or feel resentment that I was unable to grieve with them or allow them to share in my loss. I felt alone and abandoned and so, I shut down and abandoned them.
Several days a week, I made a point to visit with various relatives in the afternoons. I was particularly appreciative of my youngest brother Aaron, who, in his own contentious way, had attempted to break through my barriers. I spontaneously stopped by his office one afternoon for lunch. He was surprised and pleased to see me but accepted my presence there without question. We enjoyed a fun hour sharing a pizza he had delivered and catching up on the latest family gossip. As I prepared to leave, he stopped, pulled me towards him and engulfed me in a big bear hug. He softly kissed my cheek as he released me and whispered,
“Welcome back, sis.”
Repairing the relationship with my mother proved to be a little more complicated. Throughout this entire year, she has been steadfast, my most loyal supporter and defender. She may have secretly agreed with the complaints about my behavior, but she would not allow anyone to speak badly of me in her presence. I think I disappointed her in a very fundamental way, though, in my refusal to attend church and to renew my faith in God. I argued that she couldn’t possibly understand how I felt when she sensitively reminded me that she had buried her husband, my father, and had buried a stillborn baby before me, a daughter.
“How do you do it, mama?” I asked her desperately. “How do continue to worship a God who takes everything away from you?”
She pulled me down onto the sofa before speaking. She grasped my hands between hers and looked intently into my eyes,
“I get through it because I know who holds my future. I know that I will see them both again.” She continued, “My baby daughter and my husband both lay in the arms of Jesus. Micah and Kai are also resting there.”
“But mama, the future is meaningless to me.” I cried, sobbing out my despair, “That was destroyed and taken away from me a year ago. I need to hold my baby in my arms again, right now. I miss him so much! How could He have taken both of them from me, mama? How could He?”
“Honey, I don’t know.” She was now in tears too, “only He knows. Yes, He had the power to stop that accident but He chose not to. I don’t know why. I don’t have all the answers. God allows tragedy to touch our lives for lots of reasons. Perhaps He wants to strengthen your faith. Or maybe He intends for you to share this experience as a testimony to help someone else. I know I’m now in a better position to understand and support you, because baby, I’ve been there. But, don’t you see? God has never stopped loving you and has never once taken His hands off you. It may be hard to see Him in the middle of your pain and grief, but He has been here all the time.”
“Oh, mama,” I implored, I could feel that constant heavy weight that has taken up space in the center of my chest, shift at her words. She continued,
“Your time, our time, with Micah and Kai was a gift from God, treasure that, because honey, I do, every day. But last year, for whatever reason, God took them back into Him. Stand strong in your faith, Nandi and you can trust me on this, you will see them again. He is not punishing you.”
I fell into her arms, curled up in her lap and for the first time since Kai and Micah’s death, I cried. She stroked my hair and held me close to her as I cried out for the lives of my husband and child. I cried for the loneliness and despair I’d allowed to consume me over this past year. My tears washed away the anger and bitterness I had built up in my heart against my family and against God.
She held me until long after my tears dried and my sobs had eased. She held me as my breathing calmed and the tension in my body released. I believe that I may have slept for awhile, perhaps she did as well. When I finally stirred, she kissed my cheek, gave me another quick hug and then started threatening to put me back over her knee unless I agreed to stay to prepare a meal and then eat dinner with her. I laughingly agreed. We were good again.
The next morning, I followed my newly established routine and headed to the gazebo. The puppy was waiting, tail wagging eagerly, grinning, with his tongue lolling out, looking towards the path he knew Raphaela would take. I settled down on the chaise to wait while the puppy kept watch at the entrance. By noon, we were both forced to accept that she was not coming. The puppy abandoned his post and settled on the floor next to me. He jumped up to investigate every sound, ever hopeful that his beloved would arrive.
It bothered me, as it had numerous times before, that I could not call or drop by her house to assure myself that she was ok. I resolved to force her to tell me the next time she I saw her; barring that, I would simply follow her home. I approached the storage container of food we had left there in the gazebo and prepared breakfast for the puppy. He was none too happy that I was doing the honors today and refused to eat or drink. At first. That is, until the reality of the pain in his belly hit him. He then skulked over to the food, reluctance communicating itself to me throughout his entire body. He kept throwing resentful looks over his shoulder, I guess to remind me that he preferred to get his food from Rafaela, but would allow me to do it this one time.
Raphaela was a no-show for the next two days. Indeed, we never saw or heard from her again. On the morning of the third day, I arrived at the gazebo as usual, fed the puppy, who, by this time easily accepted me in my new role. I had walked through the neighborhood, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, without any luck. I even chatted with a couple of the kids I knew and asked them if they knew her or her family, but none recognized her description. I approached the bistro table, preparing to wait for the puppy to finish his breakfast.
“I think I’m going to take you with me to the house while we wait for Raphaela,” I said as he munched happily. It was then that I noticed a slip of paper on the table.
I absorbed the childish print first and smiled at the boxy letters drawn in crayons. However, my smile faltered and my heart lodged in my throat, as Micah's words registered in my brain.
“Daddy and I always take care of you.”
____________________________________________________________________________________
Thank you for reading and following this story. This has been an interesting process for me and a challenging story for me to write. I was thrown off track for a couple days this week and could not decide on an ending (there are two others written). The story you see here is not the one I set out to produce; if you don't believe me, I'll show you my early outline and the notes (LOL!!). But I'm pleased and was actually touched by Nandi's story and rebirth.
Feel free to leave any thoughts, feedback or comments you care to share.
No comments:
Post a Comment