Week 20 - Reflections on the death of a child

July 9 - July 11

I have relatives and friends who are parents and have lost a child. We all probably know someone who has endured this heartbreak. I cannot imagine anything more tragic. Whether it be a young child or an adult child, the parent’s pain must feel unbearable.

With the loss of a young child, the suffering of the parent revolves around a life cut short with no chance to experience the joys and sorrows, the successes and failures that are life’s lessons. When the death is that of an adult child, the parent’s realization of the unfulfilled potential, achievements and contributions bring an additional agonizing perspective.

As humans we tend to ask, “What if…?” as though we actually have the power to alter the path of another. We feel regret for not having done certain things differently. A multitude of emotions rise to the surface; guilt seems to play a prevailing role when we feel most vulnerable. I believe it is fair to say that not a day will pass in which a parent does not think about their child. In time, through the process of healing, the parent will hopefully find the strength to shift their focus to the memories that bring more joy than pain.

For Mwamini, I can’t help but wonder about the “What if’s” she is asking herself. Mwamini did not become aware of her HIV status until she was already pregnant with Rose. Therefore, the transmission of the disease to Rose took place either during the pregnancy or during childbirth. Trying to comprehend and cope with the emotions of learning that your child is HIV positive is indescribable. How does one struggle through the guilt and the powerlessness?

Giving birth was, without a doubt, the ultimate and most profound experience for me as a woman. I wish this for all mothers. But for Mwamini, and others like her, the cloud of AIDS overshadows the beauty of childbirth. AIDS is like a time bomb slowly ticking.

If Rose had been born into a family with the resources to provide quality health care and proper nutrition, would her life have turned out differently? This is just another question we cannot answer, not only for Rose but for countless others living in third world countries. (I need to clarify that AIDS is NOT just a poor person’s disease.) However, the plight of the poor living with HIV/AIDS is a constant uphill battle. Again, the “What if’s” hang in the shadows of their daily lives.

We assisted Mwamini with funds to start her own small business. With Nie’s support and encouragement, she was slowly making progress. Mwamini worked hard and even took the initiative to add products. She knew her priorities were to care for her family’s basic needs as well as educate her children and provide more nutritious meals because of the health issues. However, Rose’s first and subsequent hospitalizations required Mwamini to be at the hospital 24/7. These were major setbacks from which neither of them has recovered. Perhaps Mwamini can find some relief in the knowledge that Rose no longer suffers and Mwamini no longer has to watch the slow death she could not ignore. It is sad to think that their life may always be difficult but I am holding on to hopefulness for Mwamini and her other children.

I want to share some of the logistics around the planning of the funeral as they also evoked a number of emotions for everyone involved. But I first want to say that Jonas should be recommended for sainthood!

I am not clear on the relationship between Mwamini and Rose’s father. If there was any involvement it appears to have been minimal. He lives in Arusha, about an hour away. Mwamini is Muslim and the father is Christian. Apparently, about a month ago he was here and had Rose baptized.

Rose died around midnight on Monday, July 9th. I am not sure of her date of birth but she recently had her first birthday. Rose died at KCMC Hospital and the body then went to KCMC’s mortuary. Her body would not be released until the hospital bill was paid. It was Tuesday when we went to Mwamini’s to pay our respects and give her the funds for the hospital bill. At that time the family had tried to reach the father but he had not responded. When he did arrive, whether to bury Rose as a Christian or Muslim became a huge ordeal resulting in disagreements and indecision. Furthermore, the father wanted Rose to be buried in Arusha. Jonas was at the house Tuesday night and again on Wednesday morning attempting to reconcile the differences. When Jonas picked me up late morning on Wednesday there was still no resolution. As one might expect, I was rather upset that this man who may have transmitted AIDS to Mwamini, and most likely has provided no support; shows up to dictate the funeral arrangements. Fortunately, I did not meet him.

I found it impossible to keep my feelings silent. I told Jonas that the decision should be Mwamini’s as she is the one who must live with all the decisions that have been made throughout Rose’s life and, at the least, she should make the final arrangements. My anger was then evident when I also added that we could play hard ball and just tell the man that it is not his money paying for any of this so he has no say. Jonas said he could not tell if the man cared, or was confused, or actually sorry as there were times when he was in tears. The best I can hope for this man is that he will gain some sense of responsibility for his actions.

There were two neighbor women and Mwamini’s brother with us and Jonas informed me that we were going to the KCMC Hospital Mortuary. On the road leading to the hospital there are numerous “coffin shops”. Jonas stopped to get information in case it was a Christian burial. We were advised that a child’s coffin could be ready in two hours. When we arrived at KCMC Jonas had another conversation with the father and it was finally decided that Rose would have a Muslim burial. Muslim’s do not use coffins; instead they wrap the body in a mat wrapped in traditional cloths. Not having a mat, Jonas felt it would be quicker if he took a daladala to Moshi to buy the mat and return by motorcycle while we waited with the car.

After returning with the mat, we all entered the mortuary. Evidently, it is customary for the women to wrap the body. I am not sure why but I joined the women and helped with this procedure. It is complicated to describe my feelings. I actually felt very tranquil with an inner knowing that being there was the right thing to do; not only to show respect to Rose but to honor the strength of women. It felt like an act of support and solidarity.

The women and brother were in the backseat and the wrapped body was laid across their laps to be taken back to Mwamini’s. It was still not clear when or where the funeral would take place so Jonas suggested I go home and he would let me know. Shortly after leaving the hospital Jonas stopped the car. He walked across the road and broke off several branches from an orange flowered bush. He edged them into the front grill of the car. (This is how cars are decorated when there is a death.) I was totally taken off guard by this gesture of loving kindness and it was hard to hold back the tears.

When Jonas dropped me off I was able (both linguistically and emotionally) to express my condolences and tell the women I thought them to be very strong. I later learned that the father was taking Rose to Arusha to be buried. I know I was reactive and judgmental in my feelings towards the father.  I recently read that we must try to “see the depth in each experience and deal with the highest in every person”. I will continue to work on that one.

It is important to me that I find a positive in all my life experiences. In my very first blog I dedicated my half marathon to “the children of Tanzania with the hope that their lives may improve, they will find opportunities for success, and they will have the capabilities to give back”.  Through all the frustrations I have experienced and the obstacles I have observed on this trip, I will always hold on to this aspiration.

The Rose is a symbol of love and beauty. The color of the Rose adds even more significance.  

Sometimes called the "Flower of Light",  one of the meanings of the white rose is everlasting love - love  stronger than death - an unchanging loyalty that endures beyond all else.

The palest pink roses are a sign of gentleness, joy and grace.

Sometimes the darkest red roses are called "black roses". Their meaning goes beyond farewell and sorrow, loss and mortality; they also convey a positive message of rebirth and new beginnings.