Today my voice of my blog is a little sadder than usual.
Eusebia is a women in our womens comitee i am close to. Since day one i could tell her spirit was bigger than her skinny body. Her eyes and laughter attracted me to her heart. Her son and his wife had a son and three days later it was dead. That morning Eusebia came over saying her baby is dead. Later that day I went over to a shocking scene. I had not prepared myself to see the small, so small, three year old, dead on a white table cloth surrounded by women in chairs and red flowers. I got a good view of the child when we paid our respects, two coins over its eyes, a knife and money wished him good fortune. Sitting on the chairs, listening to the mom crying in the room, i saw the newly made grave across from where we were sitting. In paraguay, a child up to five years is burried in the front of the house. It is not common for children to die this day and age. My neighbor Josefina has a grave that is 21yrs old. Eusebias nephew died in his sleep, i believe this happens in the states.
As soon as I felt I got ahold of the stituation i was in, and felt i had some stable anchor, i quickly realized that at 2pm i came at a very bad time. They exclaimed that the baby was changing color and needed to be put in his small coffin. His skin did look different than ours. Mom of course came out, and the earth shattering paternal voice came out. ¨Cuiduate, no quiero mi amor, mi angelita, mi babe, mi amorcita...¨. She was insane with grief, saying she tried to take care of you my love, my baby. Grabbing the baby, the coins fell off her boys eyes, and the women and i around us looked elsewhere, dad came over, and then brother. The men hung out in the garden, coming in at times when their strenghth was needed, and gathering strenghth away from the women. The women around me all had red eyes, a mother clenched her baby tighter in her hands, and Deisy (my sister) and I left the scene. We had only spent 30 minutes, but the grief i shared with Eusebia when i looked into her eyes was cross cultural understanding without words. I was there within your hearts.
Walking back I learned some news that will forever change my lifetime career goals. Deisy said that when they were at the hospital this morning with the baby (dead at this point) the doctor told the mom ¨it was your breast milk that killed him, it was unhealthy¨. Uncertain to accept this as true, i said so, Deisy´s reply was ¨marianna this is how it happens here, the doctor doesnt want to be responsible for the baby, they had left the hospital two days ago...¨ Interestingly as this news kicked me hard onto a whole new understanding, injustice with the females here goes so much futher, and perhaps womens health is a way to apply compassion.
Eusebia is a women in our womens comitee i am close to. Since day one i could tell her spirit was bigger than her skinny body. Her eyes and laughter attracted me to her heart. Her son and his wife had a son and three days later it was dead. That morning Eusebia came over saying her baby is dead. Later that day I went over to a shocking scene. I had not prepared myself to see the small, so small, three year old, dead on a white table cloth surrounded by women in chairs and red flowers. I got a good view of the child when we paid our respects, two coins over its eyes, a knife and money wished him good fortune. Sitting on the chairs, listening to the mom crying in the room, i saw the newly made grave across from where we were sitting. In paraguay, a child up to five years is burried in the front of the house. It is not common for children to die this day and age. My neighbor Josefina has a grave that is 21yrs old. Eusebias nephew died in his sleep, i believe this happens in the states.
As soon as I felt I got ahold of the stituation i was in, and felt i had some stable anchor, i quickly realized that at 2pm i came at a very bad time. They exclaimed that the baby was changing color and needed to be put in his small coffin. His skin did look different than ours. Mom of course came out, and the earth shattering paternal voice came out. ¨Cuiduate, no quiero mi amor, mi angelita, mi babe, mi amorcita...¨. She was insane with grief, saying she tried to take care of you my love, my baby. Grabbing the baby, the coins fell off her boys eyes, and the women and i around us looked elsewhere, dad came over, and then brother. The men hung out in the garden, coming in at times when their strenghth was needed, and gathering strenghth away from the women. The women around me all had red eyes, a mother clenched her baby tighter in her hands, and Deisy (my sister) and I left the scene. We had only spent 30 minutes, but the grief i shared with Eusebia when i looked into her eyes was cross cultural understanding without words. I was there within your hearts.
Walking back I learned some news that will forever change my lifetime career goals. Deisy said that when they were at the hospital this morning with the baby (dead at this point) the doctor told the mom ¨it was your breast milk that killed him, it was unhealthy¨. Uncertain to accept this as true, i said so, Deisy´s reply was ¨marianna this is how it happens here, the doctor doesnt want to be responsible for the baby, they had left the hospital two days ago...¨ Interestingly as this news kicked me hard onto a whole new understanding, injustice with the females here goes so much futher, and perhaps womens health is a way to apply compassion.
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