Dear Mom

Today I buried my mom.  My heart hurts and I am exhausted.  I know that there are many emails of condolence waiting to be read.  I am told there are hundreds of kind words on Facebook and I look forward to reading them tomorrow.  But for tonight, I wanted to share a few photos for friends and family who were unable to attend the funeral today, and to share the memorial I wrote to my mom. Spencer read it for me today as I didn't have the courage to do it.  Again, thank you for your prayers- they got me through the last seven day.

Dear Mom,

I always knew that this day would come, but then again, I often wondered if you might just outlive us all. 

Mom, you were the smartest person that I know.  You were a genius, with all the charm and quirkiness that comes with being a genius.  You were always ahead of your time.  You were the only Pharmacist in the 1970’s who was also into holistic Medicine. Your goal was to find a solution to any and all heath issues   

Dad was the perfect partner for you for 50 years, and he was a wonderful father for me.  As I recall he supported most of your crazy ideas, and even admitted that they were good ideas after they were complete.  The only time that I can remember him putting his foot down, for real, was when you wanted to by a hovercraft for the cottage at Watebeag Lake. That was a firm NO, and you were not pleased by his decision, but submitted to his wishes and lived with the remorse of not having had the only hovercraft in Northern Ontario.

I know that you didn’t like to cook at all and felt it was a necessary evil to keep us all alive.  But even in cooking you were ahead of your time. I remember back in the 1960’s you were mixing butter and olive oil to make a healthier spread. You were mixing 2% milk with skim milk to make 1% - 25 years before it was done for grocery stores.

Mom as a toddler and then as a University Graduate.

You might have cooked 90% of our meals in a pressure cooker, because the day slipped away on you and you needed to make dinner in under 10 minutes, but after dinner you would make up for it by serving pastry swans that you had made earlier in the day, complete with fresh lemon curd topped with whip cream. The dessert always made the main course a distance memory. I think my love for cooking may have spawned out of necessity.

After dinner it wouldn’t be unusual for you to go downstairs in to the back of the Drug Store to continue rebuilding the engine of our 1965 Sno-Jet (snowmobile) that you had taken apart at the back of the Pharmacy.   You always loved to see and know how things worked, whether it was mechanically or scientifically.  

Spencer read this memorial and did a wonderful job.

As I look back at my own life I can’t imagine how different it would be if you and Dad hadn’t adopted me in 1963.  You taught me to be strong, courageous and compassionate. You made sure that I had the best formal education, but then also made sure I knew how to do things like attend funerals, speak truth to people in power, or send an anonymous gift to someone in need.  You taught me to do the right thing, even when it required personal sacrifice or when it was not popular.  You taught me who Jesus is and my faith in Him was nurtured by your example. 

There isn’t a week that goes by in Swaziland that I don’t find myself talking about you. With so many babies coming to us from young girls who have been sexually assaulted, resulting in pregnancy I find myself being able to encourage them with my own story. 

It’s easy for me to tell them that my birth mother was 15-years old when she got pregnant. I share that her family was humiliated and didn’t want anyone in the community to know, and so I was given up for adoption right after birth.  When I tell my Swazi friends that total “strangers” became my parents, they are shocked, as that doesn’t happen in their culture.  But there I am, a total stranger, being the one to accept a newborn baby who was dumped in an outdoor pit latrine or outhouse because there was no hospital or government agency to help her in her time of need, like my birth mother had.  

With each and every one of these conversations I can see the hand of God on my life – and it all started with you Mom

It’s funny, I can’t even count the number of times that people would comment and say how much I looked like you, which made us both smile.  Of course there was always an awkward silence when I would say,  “Thank you. That’s interesting since I am adopted.” 

Mom was buried beside Dad.  The headstone at the back on the left has both their names on it.

But adopted or not, there is no doubt that am your daughter.  There is no question that I got my tenacity, my drive, my ambition and my commitment to fight against injustice directly from you.  I remember Kim hosting a birthday party for me many years ago and we all had name tags that said, “Where there’s a Willis, there’s a way.” And ANYONE who knew you mom, knew that if there was a Willis, there WAS a way.

The past six years in the nursing home was like a prison sentence for you - my highly intelligent, defiantly independent mom.  And even though you were unable to move anything other one arm, and your hearing was very bad, you were still able to dial the phone and order product from the Television shopping channel.

This past week the staff at Riverside Glen were fondly remembering the items that had arrived at the front door of the nursing home including:  the total gym, a full set of pots and pans, THREE sets of 50 knives, complete with wooden storage blocks.  Then there was the portable fireplace, the “NoNo” hair removal kit and the monthly delivery of the Victoria Principle beauty regime.  I promise, that is only naming a few.

Last Saturday I got “the call” from Kim and I knew that it was time for me to fly to Canada from Swaziland to say “goodbye” for the last time.  After a 40-hour trip filled with cancelled flight(s), cancelled car rental reservations and lost luggage I was finally able to join Chloe by your side on Tuesday night. I wasn’t sure if you knew we were there, but when I put a cold cloth on your hot head, you opened your eyes, and I knew then that we were together.  Oh, how many times did you sit beside me and put cold cloths on my feverish forehead?  Too many to count.

Nice to have cousins from across the country come and celebrate Mom's life.

Early Friday morning you went to be with the Lord, and I was thankful that you were finally out of pain.  You were no longer trapped in your own body.

Death is a part of life and it is something we will ALL face.  But as I reflect on your life, I can't imagine where my life would be if you and dad hadn’t adopted me, raised me in the knowledge of Christ and encouraged me to follow Him. Because of your example and support, Ian and I now have 107 Swazi babies whom we are legally responsible.  Why? Because we can, and it is the right thing to do.

The circle of life was once again completed this week.

Thank you Mom.  I love you.

Jan

Dear Nomsa - things that needed to be said.

It’s strange how we want say things to people after they are gone that we couldn’t say to them when they were alive.  I am writing this letter to you, knowing that you will never read it, but knowing that there are things that still need to be said. 

I don’t have the courage to read the letter outloud so I have asked Ian to do it for me.  I hardly had enough courage to write it, but it needed to be written, for me, for Rachel and Leah and for the world.

I have never met anyone like you in my life. I have met people with courage and determination, but you were different. 

If you hadn’t gone and welcomed each new patient who arrived at the TB hospital and sat with them to get to know them, Baby Rahab would be dead today.  What kind of sick and dying person goes from bed to bed of other sick and dying people to encourage them and read scripture to them?  You are the only one that I know of.  I remember the night that Babazile died.  You sat with her until her last breath and then called me in the middle of the night to tell me she had passed.  We cried together.

If it weren’t for your direct intervention, Sepensile would be dead and so would her baby. But it was not okay with you that she was going to die in child birth at the TB Hospital and you made sure that I understood because you knew it woudn’t be okay with me either.  Only because of you, Baby Abigail is with us at the El Roi Baby Home and Sepensile is alive.  

I remember you asking me to bring English bibles for all of the women there and one in siSwati for the lady who couldn’t read English.  Why did you want them? So that you could have a bible study, with a room full of highly infectious women who had no visitors and very little hope for their future.  But you believed that Jesus was their hope, and you were going to make sure they knew that.

I remember you telling me recently that 70% of all the women you met at the TB Hospital had died.  You watched each of them, heard their screams during their night terrors, saw them fall and break bones, smelled them when all human dignity was lost and wept with them when they begged to go and die at home.

I also remember you asking me to bring you goodies.

“What kind of goodies?” I would ask. And you would just giggle and say, “You know what kind of goodies I like. You are my mother.”

Of course if I showed up with the wrong flavor of Oros juice, or if I forgot your Sprite or if the store didn’t have any pork ribs when I was shopping, I was scolded for my inadequacy.  And then we both laughed.

But here is the real truth. I did not like visiting you.  There, I’ve said it.  Not so that you could hear it, but I have spoken the truth.  I was committed to going and seeing you every week that I was in Swaziland, but I hated it.  I hated walking in and seeing women who were skin and bone lifting up their hospital gown to get a needle in their fatless hip.  I hated seeing the dozens of pills sitting beside the unidentifiable food that was required eating so that the pills might be absorbed.  I hated hearing the screams of pain of Sepensile after she fell and broke her femur in two (and her shoulder blade) knowing that Aspirin was the only pain killer available and no other hospital would take her for surgery because of her MDR-TB.   

I hated seeing your weight go down every week and I especially hated the days that I got there and you were having seizures, were not conscious and didn’t know I was there. That happened on your 26^th birthday when Ian and I went to see you. Actually it was the day after your birthday, because I couldn't make it there on February 20^th.  Too bad I hadn’t though because you were okay on that day, but the day after you were not. We left your favorite meat pizza for you, but I think you Isolation roommate may have enjoyed it.

Worst of all, though, was having to leave you there.  I hated going to visit because I hated leaving.  I grew to truly love you, even though I didn’t want to.  At times I was angry at God that He had brought us together because it caused me so much pain to go week after week, and afterall, why should I be feeling this pain?  You are not my biological child.   But our heavenly Father was teaching me.  You are a child of God, and He is the one who told me that you were the daughter of the King, and I must go and stand by your side. 

But there was another part of visiting you that I must also share.  When I would take my last breath of uninfected air, put on my N95 certified mask, strap on the protective shield around my heart and step in to Isolation Room #1 see you, your smile would light up the room, even when you were the most sick.  When I asked how you were doing you always said, “I am fine”.  That always made me laugh.

I loved the day in November that you were able to come to Project Canaan and get a tour in the back of a broken down bakkie with Lori Marschall at your side while I drove.   I loved that you could go in to Chloe’s room and sign her chalkboard with the message, “Hi Chloe, It’s your big sister. I love your room and I love you SO much!”  I loved that you got to eat your first hamburger at our dining room table and it became your favorite food (after pork ribs of course).  Obviously I didn’t fully understand your infectiousness at that time, but the Lord protected me.  

The day we were able to make a plan to move you to Project Canaan was one of the hardest days of my life.  How could I consider bringing someone with XDR-TB to a place where so many people work and live, not to mention my own family, your own babies, women living with HIV and people who would be exposed to your highly infectious disease.  I was wracked with guilt, but at the same time I knew in my heart it was the right thing to do. 

You will never know how many people you impacted in the 52 days that you lived on Project Canaan.  From the women who lived near you, loved you and cared for you to the people who came from the US and Canada and wanted to meet you and tell you that they had been praying for you for many months. You impacted our family at the deepest level and you have left a hole that will never be filled.  Even now I find myself checking my messages to see if I have received an SMS from you, and when there isn’t one, it is then that I remember you are gone… and there is no cellular service in heaven.

I think you knew you were dying they day you called the doctor and asked to go to the hospital.  Your last words to me were, “Janine, even though I am going to the hospital, will you still be my mom?  And will Project Canaan always be my home?” My answer was simply, “Yes.  I will always be your mother and this will always be your home.”  

Thank you Jere for a beautiful message.

Today we remember you with love and admiration and we honor you with our words, our music and our prayers.  We will tell your daughters about your courage, your strength, your feistiness and your faith in a God who never left your side, even to the very end.

Gcebile, I look forward to seeing you again soon.  But for now I mourn your passing.   Matthew 5:4 says, ““Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”  I pray for his comfort for all of us today and in the days ahead.  

You are loved.

_______________________________________________________________

The Swazi singing at the funeral was beautiful. We also played two songs that make me think of Nomsa: 

"Stand" by Donnie McClurkin 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RuMLBhrKHsA

"I look to you" by Whitney Houson

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Pze_mdbOK8

Live from Swaziland ...

Janine

Things that make you say, "huh??"

To live in a new and different culture successfully it helps to work diligently to learn about the customs and practices of the people whose country or region you are living in.  This was true when we moved from Ontario, Canada to Georgia, USA.  While we might look the same, culturally it was a huge change for us and one that required study and understanding.

Moving to Swaziland is much the same, but different.  Just when I think I have heard it all, I am smacked up the side of the head as a new cultural practice is explained to me.  Last week I had one of those conversations that made me say, “huh??”  Today I will do my best to share it with you.

Swazi culture is steeped in tradition including many that include Traditional Healers/Medicine Men or what we might call Witch Doctors.   Last week a friend of mine was called to the funeral of the woman whom her husband’s brother had been living with for eight years. Typically funerals here start in the evening and include an all night Vigil filled with many things I won’t talk about in this blog.  In the wee hours of the morning the actual funeral takes place and the burial happens as the sun comes up.

My friend (who shall remain nameless) planned to skip the Night Vigil and arrive at the funeral at 5AM.  At the last minute she was told that she must arrive at 3AM because there was to be a wedding first.   The man wanted the woman to be buried in his homestead (part of a Chiefdom) and because they had never married (either legally or traditionally) there had to be a wedding between the dead woman and the live man or else she could not be buried there by traditional Swazi law.

Also as a part of Swazi culture, the younger sister of the dead woman was to step in to her place as “wife” after the marriage ceremony took place to the deceased.  The grooms’ family had to meet with the “bride’s” (still the deceased) family and negotiate the Lobola (the number of cows the family would require for the bride … who is now dead).  Once that negotiation took place and several cows were brought in as a down payment they proceeded with the wedding ceremony with the coffin and the groom present. 

Meanwhile, the younger sister cries out and laments the woes of getting married, on behalf of her dead sister (traditional weddings require the bride to cry out loud because she is being married.  My friend further explained that since the bride was dead “someone had to cry” so the sister did the crying on behalf of the dead bride). 

After the wedding ceremony finishes, the funeral continues and the wife of the man is buried in the family homestead. After the burial is finished the sister of the deceased, who is now the wife of the widower, then stays at the homestead with her new husband.  After I asked a million questions that resulted in some nervous laughter and a million answers the thing I was the most perplexed about was that Christian Pastors participate in these ceremonies alongside the Traditional Healers.  Why?  The answer I was given was because if the Traditional Marriage didn’t happen then the burial could not continue, so the Christian Pastor is there for the first ceremony so that he can perform the second ceremony.  I will do some follow up on this one with some of our local Pastors to get their “take” on it. 

On a side note, my friend was “fined” by the family of the deceased for not wearing the appropriate Swazi clothing (her Swazi wedding dress made with goat skin etc) and had to pay the fine of a live goat to those whom she offended.

The more I learn, the less I know.

1-week old Luke.

In other news … we got three new babies this week. Luke was born on August 6^th and abandoned by his mother in the hospital.  Malachi is 18-months old and severely malnourished.  His drunkard mother would leave him alone all day and night locked in a room by himself. He also arrived with a present … chicken pox!  So he moved directly in to the infirmary and is enjoying one-on-one time with one of the few Aunty’s who has had chicken pox. (Sadly, this same Aunty is the one whose house burned to the ground only a few short days ago). 

18-month old Malachi.

The third baby was born on May 26^th 2014 and she has been named Michelle in memory of my friend Teri McClure’s sister-in-law who passed away in 2006.  This baby’s mother and Grandmother are severely mentally disabled and have no way to care for the baby.   As ‘fate’ would have it, Michelle McClure was also mentally disabled and after being raped she found out that she had contracted HIV/AIDS.  Before her death her heart’s desire was to go to Africa.  Sadly she passed away before that was possible, but the family came in her stead and now Baby Michelle is a living reminder of another Michelle’s life.  I am thankful that Teri and her daughter Morgan were here to be extra hands and loving arms this week as we welcomed babies #65, 66 and 67 to their home on Project Canaan.

A plaque in memory of Michelle McClure is on the El Rofi Medical Centre.

2-month old Michelle.

Live from Swaziland … you can’t make this stuff up.

Janine

PS - if you want to help us feed and clothe these new babies on a monthly basis please sign up to be a Heart for Africa ANGEL today.

In the US: https://heartforafrica.secure.force.com/pmtx/cmpgn__donations?id=701C0000000VFWR


In Canada:  http://www.heartforafrica.ca/Project%20Canaan%20Children.aspx