Long Road==Jan 27 2010

 

He was supposed to be on a very different trip...climbing mountains...forging rivers...crashing through the jungles of Sabah. Instead, he flew across the world to see his sister who was dying. I picked him up from the airport on Tuesday night and we left Seattle before 3 am.

"Are you alright dad?"

"I'm fine"

We drove. At 5.15 am, he became deathly ill. We had to stop the car several times. We became familiar with the rest stops and the gas stations. By 5.35 am he suddenly- miraculously got better. At 7.30 the phone rang; his sister, my aunt, was gone...she died at 5.30 am. 

"Dad, are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

I reached across and patted his arm as we drove. As Lewis Carroll so aptly penned..."The time has come," the walrus said, "to talk of many things: of shoes and ships- and sealing wax- of cabbages and kings."...and so, we, on our seven hour journey down to Selma, Oregon, talked, laughed and I heard my father tell me stories I had never heard before. I asked questions I've never had a chance to ask. Finally we arrived at the mortuary ...Hull & Hull...in Grants Pass, Oregon. 

"I'm here to see my sister."

I let the kind gentleman know my father travelled from Sabah to Singapore to Seattle and now to Grants Pass, Oregon to see his sister. He looked very empathetic. I wonder if you go through a special course to work at a mortuary. Do they teach you to talk in an ultra soft voice? Do they train you to lean towards those grieving and nod your head at everything they say? If so- he was trained well.

"Would you like me to prepare her for you to view her...she has just come in...."

"No, I would like to see my sister just as she is."

"Give me one moment."

We waited. We commented on what a lovely mortuary it was. We viewed every picture on the wall. My father read the motto, "we are here for your today and your tomorrow." I asked again..."Are you alright?"

"I think it is better like this..."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, it might have been better that I didn't see her struggling in pain. Maybe it is better I am seeing her like this."

"Yes, I think so."

"I needed to come, even though I didn't make it in time."

"You are right."

"How could it have happened so fast? They just told me she was sick? She was well a week ago."

The kind man returned to usher us into a small room. He carefully explained her mouth was not totally shut and her eyes were not fully closed. He paused at the door to warn us of her body being there immediately when we entered the small room. He need not have worried about us and dead bodies...my father and I have seen our share of them ...but then this time it was his sister...so it would be different.

He patted her cheek and forehead and said, "Oh sissy...oh sissy...you've gone." I stroked her arm and felt tears welling up. It was difficult for me to see my father grieving for his only sister. He didn't cry but he kept saying,"Oh sissy...I tried to come quickly."

There was not going to be a funeral. She chose not to have one. Her sons said they had to fulfill her wishes. My father sat in the car outside the mortuary and said, "Now what? Shall we have lunch?"

I said, "Why don't we go to Elmer's Restaurant...since it was her favorite place to eat." 

His face brightened up, "It will be like a tribute to her memory."

We ate at Elmer's and he told his 'sissy' several times..."we are here for you."

After eating, we headed back up to Seattle. Seven hours of more talking, and phone calls to loved ones. As I drove, I listened to my father retelling the day's events over and over to each new person he spoke with. I could tell there was a certain healing going on with each new telling. There would come a time he would weary of having to relate the events; but for this time, he needed this therapy of sorts. I listened as he told me more stories. Eighteen hours after leaving my house, we pulled back into my driveway. 

"Are you alright dad?"

"Yes, thank you, I am fine."

There will be many more days for him to climb mountains, forge rivers and stomp through the jungles of Sabah. Today was the only day he could make the journey to say farewell to his sister. I am thankful I was a part of this journey.

Kota Kinabalu- 2009- Truth stranger than fiction

In my life, I find truth to be stranger than fiction. Often I hesitate to even tell people the things I've gone through or go through because eyebrows curve up with the slightest hesitation. The curve asks the silent question, "Could this be real?" When I see the curving of the eyebrow, the furrowing of the brow, bewildered faces, all I can do is laugh. I laugh at life and how incredible it can be.

This weekend my mom called me from Kota Kinabalu, Sabah (East Malaysia). My parents have been living there for the past 3 years. They travel extensively; however, KK has become their home base for now. My parents have lived in Singapore and Malaysia for 54 years....in that time they watched the birthing of both those nations....they also have been involved with people. All sorts of people! I grew up with interesting housemates :)...let's just say, when the mental hospital couldn't handle a patient, often the patient would end up living with us! Enough said! (now you know why very little shocks me)

One day I might tell some of the funny stories of growing up in our home. But for today, I am just sitting here totally amazed that my parents have managed to find themselves back in the midst of helping someone in a bizarre situation. They were asked to help a woman who had found herself in a strange situation.

The story starts with a man who thought he was some kind of prophet or 'man of god'- he apparently convinced some others he was a prophet. There were three women followers, in particular, who gave up everything for him. In fact, their families knew this must be a cult. No matter how the families tried they could not get these women to come home. Then the leader 'disappears' or at least he doesn't appear. This didn't set off any red flags because he was known to spend time meditating and being 'holy.' It should have made people sit up and think, "where is the guy"...but it didn't...13 months went by and then the police finally broke into the house where those women were. What did they find?

They found the man- dead. He had been dead for 13 months. He had told his followers he would be resurrected from the dead. The women wrapped him up and waited...they waited 13 months...until the police finally confiscated the body and sent them to the psychiatric hospital.

So, where do my parents come in on this story? You guessed it; the woman was released from the hospital and my mom is supposed to help her. My mom told me one policeman was overheard saying to the women, "Your God only took 3 days to raise from the dead...why were you still waiting for this man?"

A link to the news story

the day the words died- Ghana April 2007

Death is not a stranger to me. I'm not immune to the sadness it brings, but I am not overwhelmed with the sorrow. Normally, the deaths of those I love are staggered out but in April 2007 I lost two wonderful friends. For some reason, after their deaths I put away the manuscript I was working on. My words crumpled up and died. This blog has brought some life to my words, but I think they are handicapped. They limp pathetically along my screen. Sometimes a word will look up with a lively grin, but then I see it slide back into a stilted stride next to the rest of its lifeless companions.

What silenced my words? As I mentioned earlier- the death of two dear friends. One friend was snatched away suddenly and without warning. Lily Ashley was the co-director of Kinderparadise in Accra, Ghana. She was preparing for a trip to the US with her sons. I met her on April 6th and we had a great time together. We laughed, talked and finally I hugged her and said, "Good bye, I'll see you Sunday!" Little did I know that on April 7th- she would be killed in a horrible motor car accident returning from Pram Pram on the Tema Motorway.

Daniel and I received the phone call telling us she was at the Military Hospital. We rushed there to find out she was already dead. If I didn't look at the horrible gash on her forehead, I would have thought she was simply asleep. The next day was Easter Sunday, my husband had to get up and tell the congregation their beloved friend, Lily Ashley, was dead. This is where the reality of real faith sets in- do we let circumstances determine how we react, or do we act with the strength and the power of God.

April 24th I had to rush my friend Haruna to the hospital. He developed malaria when no one was around and now it had become cerebral malaria. Someone rushed him into Accra, where they knew I was and I rushed him first to one hospital and then to Korle-bu. Oh, how I could not stand Korle bu- it reminded me of Milli's death- it reminded me of too many people's sickness and sadness. I was thrust back into the bowels of the hospital.

Just to get a bed was a miracle. They wanted to turn us away, in fact another patient died in the taxi while her son attempted to get her a bed. Thankfully, Haruna got a bed. The man across the aisle could not lay down without choking. His frail wife allowed him to sit up and lean against her. She looked as though she would collapse, so I offered to let him lean against me. I made sure Haruna was resting and then I slowly changed places with the man's wife. She sank down into a chair and sighed. I chatted with her softly, asking her questions as she rested. A low rumbling in her husband's throat interrupted our conversation. She jumped up and began to wail. The nurse told her he was gone; she already knew.

I went back to sit next to Haruna's bed. "Mama Connie, I hear pain in my waist."..."Mama Connie, please massage my back."...."Mama Connie help me to use the toilet."... "Mama Connie, I cannot see"...and on and on it went for 6 days. Then on the 6th day it was, "Mama Connie, will I be alright?"

"Haruna, whether you live or die, you will be fine."

"Thank you"

"Mama Connie, will my mother come in time?"

His mother was coming from the North, she managed to arrive on Sunday. He said, "Mama, can you forgive me?"

"Why must I forgive you son?"

"Because I promised to take care of my brothers and sisters, but now I must leave you."

"Haruna, I do not need to forgive you; you have been a good son."

He smiled weakly and breathed his last breath. There was no more need to be at the hospital. I helped with the funeral arrangements. Lily and Haruna were buried a day apart. Life went on, as it always does; only this time my words were gone. I wait patiently for the day my words will return.

repost- A different Kind of Journey- Ghana-August 2002

(I am reposting this just to keep it in the ongoing timeline)- warning, this is a bit graphic and morbid

On a fateful day in August 2002, a bicycle knocked my friend, Milli down. I rushed her to a hospital in Accra,Ghana. I reassured her she would be fine. After all, what real damage can a bicycle do? In the emergency room, I held Milli in my arms. She was bleeding profusely from her head as I pleaded with the nurses and doctors to help her.

"She will be fine" they responded.

She was not fine. She died.

I could dwell on the unfairness of her death...if only the hospital had been better equipped...if only the doctors and nurses had done more...if only the proper medication had been administered on time...if only ...if only...if only....but there is no point in lingering on such things.

Last year I wrote something of her death; it was a strange piece but somehow it helped me to put it all to rest- here is the piece- join me on this journey of the senses-

The Smell of Death

Milli was gone. It happened so fast I didn’t know what to think. One minute she was alive and well, the next moment she was lying lifeless in a morgue.

“You have to go in and clean and dress her up,” the robust nurse informed me.

The words just didn’t compute. What did she mean, I had to go in and clean her up? Surely there were attendants trained to handle this kind of situation. Apparently there were no designated people to do the clean up at the Korle-bu Hospital in downtown Accra, Ghana.

“Where do I go?” I asked, not really wanting to know.

After getting directions, I headed off towards the morgue. The building looked insignificant enough. The front doors swung open with a light push. One push propelled me into my own horror film. The next thing I knew my nostrils were paralyzed with the worst smell in the world. It was more of a stench, then a smell. I gagged and almost fell back outside, but an attendant motioned me forward. My hand instinctively flew to cover my nose in a futile attempt to keep the foul odor out.

“Come, your friend is here.” The attendant directed me to follow him deeper into the building. As I moved towards the inner doors, the smell became even more repugnant. It was a mixture between the smell of rotting flesh and some sort of chemical. I gagged again. As I moved through the second doors, I finally saw where the smell was coming from. There were bodies laying everywhere in various stages of decomposition. I stepped over a few bodies and tried to analyze the smell. The sickeningly sweet smell was tinged with the stench of dead rat flesh. I had to think of this analytically, or else I would faint.

The hospital worker pointed me through to a smaller room. I peeked in, before entering, and saw Milli laid out on a desk. Her body, although small, hung off both ends of the desk. I forgot about the man who had directed me to her. I forgot for a brief moment about the overpowering stench. I just wanted to try and bring dignity to my dear friend. She who in life was so prim and proper. I wanted to cover her naked body from the prying eyes of those who surrounded me.

“Oh, Milli, oh, Milli…” I leaned over and touched her arm. My nose was once again assaulted by the pungent odor of a mix between rotten eggs and formaldehyde. I gagged again, this time my throat stung from the burning liquid that came up in the back of my mouth. My free hand went back up to my nose, my other hand held onto the clothes I had brought to dress Milli in.

The attendant crept up behind me, “You must work fast, no embalming. She spoils quickly.”

I had no choice but to be strong. Pulling my hand away from my nose, I began to breathe through my mouth. Slowly, I washed her cold skin. She was defrosting, like a piece of chicken that had been taken out of the freezer. I finished up the cleaning and quickly worked at putting her underwear on. Have you ever tried to put underwear on a stiff, cold corpse? It is no easy task.

“Oh, Milli, why did you decide to walk to meet me that night? Why didn’t you just take a taxi?” Her facial expression remained frozen as I murmured my questions to her. Why had a bicycle come out of nowhere and knocked her down? How could a bicycle kill a person? It just didn’t make sense. I breathed in deeply from my nose and coughed when the vile scent of the room filled my throat. I had forgotten to keep breathing through my mouth.

It seemed like an eternity, but finally Milli was dressed beautifully. She would have been proud to see how pretty I’d made her look. I gathered my things and glanced back at Milli one more time, and then I left for the church. They would bring the body to the church and we were instructed to bury her within two hours. Her body was decomposing rapidly.

Once out in the fresh air, I took a deep breath trying to purge my body of the smell which invaded every pore. One gulp, two gulps, but the smell would not leave. The smell of death was there to stay. The funeral went well. Some say it was the most beautiful funeral they had ever been to. I can’t say, because I was too busy trying to get rid of the smell lodged up in my nostrils. That night I fell asleep smelling dead flesh and chemicals. I dreamt of dressing dead bodies and gagging. I awoke with the smell of death still on me. The dreams continued night after night for a week.

“Can you smell it, Daniel?” I asked my husband.

He said, “No, it is all in your mind. It’s been a week; you can’t possibly smell it.”

The smell of death is powerful. It doesn’t leave you easily. It had taken up residence in my nose and it didn’t want to be evicted. I had been around dead bodies before, but they were nicely cleaned and in sterile conditions. The smell of uncontained decomposition is a powerful stench that will not go away politely. One morning I woke up to the realization that I was finally free from the smell. I was finally able to think of Milli and all she meant to me without being overcome with a strong desire to gag. I could sit and think about the happy times we had shared, without remembering the last day I saw her in the morgue.

Ghana 2001- shaved legs, sweet smells and other surprising things

Someone pointed out my absence of updating...I have been reluctant to update because I did not want to leave Ghana-2001 just yet. How does one compile an entire year into one or two posts? There is so much which took place in 2001, not just in Ghana but in the world. Looking back at old journal entries for 2001, I see a stadium collapse, beauty,birth, death, rains, joy, family time, 9/11, cancer, and so much more. Out of all the monumental entries, one simple one jumped up at me. It ties in with the last update I did....It says nothing, while at the same time it says everything.

Wednesday, May 30th, 2001

Just stepped out of the shower...had a delicious time with all those flavored shower gels and special smelling lotions.

What is the best feeling in the world? SHAVED LEGS....they feel so smooth! love it! Wet hair...smelling of some kind of fruit....overwhelmed right now with various fragrances. There is the sweet smell of the 'after rain' drifting in from outside. Peeking out the window, I can see leftover rain dripping from drooping branches. Everything sparkles....so fresh....renewed. mmmmmm...good!

The garden looks like I feel!

p.s. and for the other surprising things... a bit of morbid humor happened in 2001- my dear friend, Mr. O (69 years old)- was traveling from the Eastern Region via tro-tro (buslike contraption- which squeezes in more people than it should). The tro-tro met with a tragic accident just before reaching Accra. Dead bodies draped every conceiveable place.

Mr. O's body was hoisted onto a truck with the other bodies. On arriving at the Military 37th Hospital- white powder was sprinkled on each body. Due to the late hour, the morgue assistant simply left the bodies lying aimlessly about in the morgue and then he walked out. Several hours later, Mr. O woke up. Apparently he was not dead. After surveying his surroundings, he stood up and walked out the door. Two young watchmen were sitting outside the door when the naked, white powdered-sprinkled Mr. O emerged from the morgue. Needless to say, they shot up from their chairs and took off running. Mr. O didn't have time to explain to them he was not a ghost. :)...aaahhhh, yes, my memories of Ghana!