HEAVEN CAN WAIT

My pride was stung every minute I looked down and caught sight of my depressed teats and the stretch marks running down on my tummy, months after my delivery. Those visible, conspicuous marks finding way around my belly button in a lightning fashion that kept haunting me and frightfully declaring ugliness around my abdominal region. The marks that kept me locked in thoughts of why-me and how. I hated and judged every edge of my skin, they all looked to me like loathsome parts attached carelessly on my skinny, thin flesh that was not doing me any good favors either. My whole being tortured me, even my hair and nails were not left out in the discomforting adventure. There was nothing lovable to look forward to, I was left hopeless and helpless. But then I still managed to look at my son and release a joyful smile full of love and compassion. I still wonder where I got the strength to love him that much when he was basically the reason behind my body being in that devastating situation. He had milked me out of my body weight and rendered me a featherweight.  I wonder how I got to manage sanity and stayed psychologically in check when my body was failing me and I could not seem to find any remedies. All in all, after a long time of perseverance, I am all new now, both body and in spirit, thanks to self-acceptance, working out and eating right, meditation and praying harder.

I could have put all the blame on the birth of that angelic being but what kind of a mother would I be and what conscience would I justify my blames on? I am not leaning on love because it is my obligation to do so and if it were so then definitely that would not have been a suitable action to be declared as love. The flesh from my very own flesh, the fruit of my womb and the feeder from bosoms could not be subjected to dislike and hatred and more so not from his very own mother. No matter the traumatic and unsatisfactory circumstances I was subjected to, my son had to get the best of me. I simply love my boy, not only for the fact that he is the fruit of my womb but my love for him exists through every avenue of his being. I will root for him, go the hardest for him and even recite the longest prayers on his favors and when my heart grows weak and my love for him is at a critical point, I am certain that I have the strongest army behind me to always keep me in check.

He always takes me to that place where his actions speak directly to my heart and in return my heart responds with love and excitement, my mum sometimes takes me for a deranged mother but crazy is the one thing that I certainly am not. What is there to be unloved in an obedient, wise, neat, happy child who knows and even understands the existence of God? What is the there not to be loved in a child that wakes up in the morning, kisses you softly on the forehead and greets you with a cheerful ‘good morning momma, hugs you and asks you how your night has been? How could you stop yourself from loving a child who loves you back and stands by you whenever everyone is against you?

It has been a great morning today, with my little bambino waking up immediately I have finished reading my Bible Devotional and wishing me an even better one with a slight soft kiss on my forehead and giving me a cheerful ‘good morning momma’ greeting. Hopefully the day is going to fair on well and end with joyful chatters around the dining table and an even more joyous Devotional. The light in my heart brightens when my son comes up with the most amazing words.

“Momma, God maked me feel better, my tummy feels good now.”

He had gone to bed the previous night complaining of tummy aches, I gave him some medicationand we prayed over it, told him God would touch His tummy and heal him before morning and the magical words he spoke to me afterwards in the morning made my heart jolly. A little ache in his bowels sometimes stirs scary thoughts in my head because there was a time when they not only caused me nightmares but also drove me into thinking of worse scenarios that up until now remain unspeakable and strange to my tongue. There were days when a slight discomfort in his bowels would cause me alarming confusions and I would chose to miss out on very important events just to be beside him and ensure he was alright. The times when he was not responding to any medication. Times when he scared us all and we thought the end had come. The times when his body was thinning and his bowels largening. The times when my faith waivered and I cursed the heavens for having sent such an immense suffering to a young defenseless soul. The Times and days that still haunt me to date.

I remember how my younger sister and my dad (may the good Lord rest his soul) had suffered, making trips day and night to different hospitals in Kisumu, tearing up whenever a shot was administered on his feeble hands. He was laid on a hospital bed, without strength and almost breathless. Three days passed and still no slight recovery was seen, he was immensely weak and emaciated. No food got in and settled, diarrhea and vomiting claimed victory over his body. I was in school preparing for the end of semester’s examinations and my sister had offered to take care of my son since she had just gotten through with high school and had time in her hands. They had travelled to my dad’s at Kisumu and that is where the illness started. The everyday phone calls from my sister came without good news and only registered that my son was getting worse. My prayers seemed not to be reaching heaven so I resolved to cursing, blaming, gnashing, crying and making desperate phone calls. I called my friends and everyone who had a relation with someone knowledgeable in medicine, asking for guidance and requesting for their prayers. I even called his ‘father’! A desperate measure that I wish I never could have taken. If you have been keeping up with my stories then you definitely know the kind of aloof and dysfunctional relationship I got with that man.

We tried everything and everywhere. We visited all health facilities with a name in Kisumu without any positive feedbacks. They performed several tests on him, including ultrasounds but no known disease was found. My mum could not endure it anymore and so she decided to travel to Kisumu and see it with her own eyes, perhaps that way she would relieve my sister and create a sense of ease. Her one day experience at the hospital sent shivers down her spine. Her arrival, as she narrated later on to us, was graced with a dead body of a child whose mother was in a devastating situation, weeping uncontrollably and sorrowfuly wailing and wandering at all the corners of the room. Her heart sunk at the sight and immediately she declared that her grandson was not going to last one more day in that place. My dad at that time was suffering and the expression on his face showed immeasurable sadness. My sister was the most affected, my son's sickness had rendered her unwell too. She was greatly stressed and could not hold back her tears. When desperation strikes and there seems to be no way out, a man is forced to dig deeper and involve even the things he does not have a tinge of belief in. At that particular moment, my folks decided that no modern medicine was going to do him any good. To satisfy their desperation, they immediately called me and asked if I was comfortable with visiting a herbal doctor back in the village and also if I could manage to travel and meet them there. This decision was arrived at hastily, none of us was even certain if my son's condition would see him through the pressures of the rough journey to the village.

That was the call that alarmed me the most. For a moment I thought I was going to lose my mind. My mind lingered in several thoughts. Why were we going to the village! Was I going to meet a lifeless body, ready for burial or was I simply going to offer my child to a herbal medicine man? Did they lose him and cannot find the words to break the news and so they need me to see it by myself?

My whole body grew weak and my strength was betrayed. I cried to God and I recited the longest prayer I have ever had. I spoke to Him and uttered words that I do not think I could ever say again. He had to spare my child because his time had not come. I immediately packed up few items after the tiring prayer, freshened up, took the 500 shilling note I had and set off with a heavy heart. I couldn't care less whether that was enough for my fare but I miraculously reached our home in the village. I was relieved when I heard my son call me momma. However weak it had been, I greatly thanked God for that sound, breathed a sigh of relief and even managed pick up a smile. Him calling my name assured me that he still had breath in him and could recognize me; that was a good sign. The sight of him, lying down on the mat though reduced me to a pitiful being. He was pale and thin, with his stomach sticking out like a child suffering from kwashiorkor. My heart sank and tears ran freely down my cheeks. I could not bear him seeing me crying so I immediately dried up my tears and walked to him. He hugged me weakly and smiled briefly then went into bouts of diarrhea. All this time my mum and sister had not spoken a word to me but their expressions communicated more than words could.

Three days passed and the herbal medication started giving him signs of relief. Administering the medication though, proved to be a painful process. The bitterness and the nauseating effect they had on him overpowered his liking. We would force him to swallow them and that caused us all pain. My mum prayed for him almost every hour of the day and before and after giving him the drugs. He responded well but we still had our uncertainties so one day mum faithfully carried him with her to church to seek the hand of the Lord upon him. Whatever happened she chose to keep to herself. We concluded that she weeped and prayed for hours for the perfect health of our baby. The next day he ate perfectly well, did not throw up all day and his stool showed signs of good health. My faith strengthened from then and the glory of God was renewed in me once again. The herbal doctor too had to receive her own share of gratitude and until today we still are grateful to her.

That instant relief from the long illness which made us all weak was a magnificent manifestation of the presence of God’s marvelous works in our lives. We endured the suffering but God set us free from it at last. My son's time to be with the angels had not come and hopefully it is not anytime soon because Heaven can definitely wait for him. In the meantime we will live life without fear, loving more, strengthening our faith, doing good, striking our signature poses and exploring the world. Liam will definitely rise.

©WriteHer Annie