The Gift of Death

We went to Mother Theresa’s orphanage again today. Some of the children have been moved around in the rooms, which reflect their better or worse health. However, one tiny baby that I had spent time with last Friday was not there. The child was hooked up on a respirator and was having a very difficult time simply breathing. He was probably no older than 18 months, pale, skinny, working hard at living. I touched his head and prayed for him, his fraught chest no bigger than half of my hand, his eyes darting around the room, his body belabored. I do not know why, but at the time I felt like the only way that he was going to be free from such suffering was not to receive new lungs or breathe more easily, but to pass over completely to God. He is longer with the world: he died sometime in the week. I would like to think it was soon after I had left, because I had told him my heart that he should not be afraid and that if he had to, he should let himself go. I know this sounds crazy. But that is what happens. It seems much unlearned to think that death is a good thing: the Cross is foolishness to the world. People struggle all the time to figure out why God would let such things happen, why babies are abandoned and get sick and die. However, in the child’s little eyes, he knew it was time. He knew with the simplicity of an old soul experiencing a new pain. He knew that very often sickness and disease are the very release from suffering most needed, that death is the final medicine. Then it is time to move other into God’s territory, the place of light. I won’t call it heaven, because I don’t know what that word means to us anymore--and I have never been there to, my recollection. But, somehow, we both knew; we shared an unspoken understanding. It was right there, just behind his eyes, a mixture of fear and pain. That being said, I was still not expecting him to have died. But the bed was empty, the oxygen tanks quiet. I feel very peaceful, as I did when I was with him, and I hope you do to, reading this. We should never be afraid of death. The young woman who told me the news was almost smiling, partially because she was nervous, partially because she was amused at my trying to speak Kreyol. I’d like to think, though, that it is really because she shared in the blessing: the ending of suffering for one special child.