It Should've Been You

I witnessed today one of the most heart-breaking scenes possible to see in this life.

As I approached the little group along the road, my throat tightened. A little company of villagers I didn't know, a few students, some of the gohlahwa teachers...and one of my seventh grade girls, crouched on the ground next to a small trailer holding the dead body of her mother.

Mah Lah Gee's mother has had a terminal sickness for some time. She was staying here at our school for awhile, but she was transferred to another place some time ago. She had asked for baptism, and Harvey and Thara Eh Guh Nyaw had been studying with her. She was still hanging on, though barely.

And then, this morning, she passed away.

Mah Lah Gee didn't even get to say goodbye.

Sharon was crouched by Mah Lah Gee, holding her, letting her cry. A few other students looked at me as I approached them and crouched down next to them both. Mah Lah Gee noticed my presence, and while sobs still rent her throat, she leaned her head on my knee while I put an arm around her.

Karen don't cry. They just don't. It isn't culturally accepted...but Mah Lah Gee cried. I had to fight to retain my own tears while her cries filled the silence surrounding her, Sharon and I. A huge truck passed us, barely a foot away since we were in the road.

Harvey suggested we move off the road, and we did so, helping Mah Lah Gee over. She stood facing the little trailer attached to the back of the motor bike and started to regain composure. Still, I wrapped my arms around her, and she clung to my arms while we stood there.

I now noticed the little trailer. Her mother was covered with a white blanket, one of the blankets that the kids had been given for Christmas. I couldn't see how a human body could be underneath the white and pink blanket--it was so small.

Thara Merciful asked Harvey to pray, and Harvey did so, voice choked and shaking. As he prayed, the tears now freed themselves from the prison of my eyelashes and blurred my sight. I hadn't known this woman at all...but I knew her daughter, and that was enough.

Harvey finished, and the villagers--which happened to be Mah Lah Gee's family--drove away. Harvey would take the rest of the students who were related up to their village in a little bit. Mah Lah Gee didn't stay, but turned and walked away.

The group dispersed from the side of the road, but I stood there and watched the little motorbike and trailer, bearing their burden away. Wind brushed my face, a bird twittered in a nearby tree and the sun glowed warm. Such beauty...it's almost mockery. 

Later, on the porch alone, I finally shed tears. It's not fair. No child deserves to lose their mother. No 16 year old girl deserves to go through this... 

But it's reality.

And reality hurts.

The picture of the little trailer, and the pink and white blanket flash across the memory again. The scene of a knot of people along the road, and a young girl, crouched in misery, pain, heartbreak as only she could know, next to the body of her mother. And my heart breaks.

It's easy to treat death lightly. We get so numbed in our culture that it becomes everyday, commonplace, ordinary.... Natural.

There is nothing natural about a young girl losing her mother like this. 

But when it's this far removed from you and your comfortable spot in the pew, it's easy to paste a religious smile on and not worry about it.

But this could be you. You crouching by the body of someone you've loved, having to face the pain of losing someone who's loved you.

It could be you.

But, because of God's mercy, it isn't.

Instead, it's a young girl in the jungles of Thailand.

I just saw a white station wagon drive past. Harvey was driving. Eh Guh Nyaw in the front seat. And a large sheet of plywood on top--for a casket.

The whole Steck family went to Mah Lah Gee's village. Due to not feeling well, I stayed home. But my heart is with them still.

Some things touch you in a way you will forever remember.

And some things, though they don't affect you directly, break your heart in a way you will never forget.

But this isn't just another story. Another blog post.

Look at it this way...

It could've been you that let a broken girl cry in their arms.
It could've been you that listened to the choked prayer of a principal for a little family, bereaved of a mother.
It could've been you that watched the little motorbike drive away.

It could've been you.

Now...

...why wasn't it?

Souls die every day. People cry every day.

Oh, yes; it could've been you.

But, more pointedly, it should've been you.

It's time.

Go.