Love another one

I was surprised when Lindiwe asked me to wash her own face during her routine bed bath. Typically patients who can not make it through a shower are bathed in their beds – head to toe by myself or one of the Home Based Care workers. As I handed Lindiwe her washcloth I was silently thankful for her newfound strength, a sign perhaps that she would be on the upswing.

Her bath was finished, her hair braided. A slow morning at the Respite so I sat with her telling her about the upcoming weekend. Beccas brother Sam was in town – Any suggestions of things he should see or do? She fiddled with my hair, her conversation jumping between places Sam should visit and talking about how “white” my hair was (in texture not color yet, thankfully)

She paused.

She took one deep breath and she asked me to help her lay down saying she wasn’t feeling well. As she neared the pillow her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Her body grasping for air, her breaths shallow.

I just sat there frozen watching as the supervisor called the home based care trainees over to take their turn at poking and prodding her. Feeling her feet to see if they were getting colder. Lifting up her arm only to abruptly let it go and see if she has the energy to let it down slowly on her own or if it would just drop to the bed. I looked around me and I realized that there were 14 people standing and staring at her. She went from being my main source of conversation that morning to the first death the new HBC workers were going to witness.

No words of consolation were being spoken. No prayers were being offered. No hands gently touching her, helping her on her way. The sound was that of shuffling bodies shifting to get a better view. Eyes fixated on her bed like those of passer-by’s during a highway accident,.

I looked down to see my hand wrapped around Lindiwe’s. I don’t remember initiating hand holding, all I knew was that she should not feel alone.

As seven am turned to eight, eight to nine, and nine to ten the HBC workers interest in the dying process peaked and tedium overtook; one by one they each slipped under the curtain and found a seemingly more appealing patient to observe.

I snapped back into reality started quietly singing “Amazing Grace” over and over while simultaneously counting the seconds between her breaths.

2 seconds. 3 seconds. 3 seconds. 6 seconds. 8 seconds. 14 seconds. 14 seconds. 14 seconds. 22 seconds. 29 seconds. 47 seconds.

Lindiwe, age 40 passed away. She left behind three children. She was the first death I have witnessed on my own since arriving in South Africa. I am a mix of emotions. I ached knowing that this was the reality of life here, but at the same time I felt like I did my job well.

Life in South Africa is delicate balancing act, one that I am only beginning to see let alone understand. Death is such a part of life here that when it happens people pause, pay their respects and move on. I struggle with not letting my emotions and my traditional ways of dealing with death put me in a choke hold.

Baba Benjies knack for rearranging words was brought to my attention by a previous volunteer, Mary. Just as she remembers from her time in South Africa, I often hear Benjie mutter some mix up of a common phrase. Instead of saying "love one another" he often says "love another one". I think South Africa and Lindiwe's death will teach me a thing or two about just being in the moment and saving the figuring out of what it all means for another day. Lindiwe's death was very sad, but I know that my job here is to love. And love another one I will.