There Will Be Tears . . .

"Not only so but we boast also in our sufferings, for suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces hope. And hope does not disappoint us for it has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us." - Romans 5: 3-5

 

It may had been a week since one of my colleagues left the states for his internship when he found out that his mother had died. I had only met him a few weeks before during the Summer Missionary Conference but it made no difference in my empathy. We both were in our mid-late twenties leaving what we once knew as home for somewhere quite foreign to us. Though things change through the course of a year there are certain things we expect to stay the same, like family. I never had the opportunity to speak with my colleague about his situation. Rather, I observed from a far and prayed his supervisor would be able to provide him the spiritual support he deserves. There are truly no words I could think to say besides, “Lord God I pray that does not happen to me.”

I have heard these horror stories before of losing a loved one while on internship.  That may be one of the hardest obstacles to overcome at such an intense period in one’s life. During this year interns are being evaluated for their growth in various areas of ministry. Essentially, are they or are they not qualified to serve the ELCA? Committees are breathing down the intern’s neck and evaluations are read with a fine tooth comb. There is little opportunity to breathe and to grieve. Fortunately, many interns persevere. It is another battle to be won in the war to ordination, at least that is what it feels like at times. I am not concerned necessarily with the end result but more so with trials and tribulations grief brings to internship.

It is my third Tuesday in Argentina and I find myself mumbling “Lord God I pray that does not happen to me” while sitting at a two person table in a small restaurant near the train station. As I sip my afternoon coffee my mother messages me to pray for my aunt. This is the first time in days I have been able to access my family and I am greeted with news that she has been hospitalized. Though this happened before, the prognosis is not so promising. My mother and I exchange words and I gasp and gulp at every response. “You cannot cry in public” I keep telling myself trying to hold back gentle tears of vulnerability. I can’t even pick up the phone to check in on her. Finally mom tells me, “they may just keep her comfortable.” I gasp and gulp again while a tear escapes its ducts. After working as a hospital chaplain for a summer I am no stranger to the term comfort care. How much time are we talking? She tells me maybe thirty days but we are waiting for a second consultation. This may be my aunt, but this is one of my mother’s best friends. Moments after I ask how my mother is handling all of this, our connection dies. Is she too mumbling to herself while sitting down for lunch like me?

I walk back to my apartment wondering how my siblings are doing? How is Aunty’s children and grand children? Who is with her at the hospital? Of course it would be Dawn. Dawn and her mother are like best friends. Who is there for Dawn? Half of my siblings are her God- children. How are they taking the news? I can only imagine my older sister getting upset every time she talks about it. My sister has been waiting to get a silhouette of the Bronx Zoo with a cancer ribbon around it to symbolize their bond. I wonder who my mother calls to process all of this? Is she making herself sick thinking about it? All I want to do is check in with people but I need to wait until Siesta is over to find a place with wifi. 

Not even four hours has passed and I already feel like a wreck filled with anxiety. In another day I will return to my norm and shuffled beside my supervisor in and out of meetings. Every day during lunch I’ll take a walk for wifi to check in. Then one day I’m going to check in and get the message I had been dreading. I’ll gasp, gulp, and cry on the spot not knowing if I should take the rest of the day off or keep working to stay distracted. Eventually the pain will go away until I see posts and messages about funeral arrangements. For the rest of the year I will be reminded of her once a month and on every U.S. holiday. Then after a few months of silence I will return to the states only to be reminded all over again that she no longer lives in Freeport. At this point, everyone else will have began to adapt. For me it will only just sink in. 

Before I left the states I said good bye to my soon to be 95 year old grand aunt. At the time my greatest fear was losing her, my childhood best friend, while I was away. When I arrived to Buenos Aires my mother updated me about the health of my other aunt and uncle in North Carolina. Both of them are slowing down significantly as well. “Lord God I pray that does not happen to me.” Just not this year Lord. That is too many funerals to miss and too many bodies to be buried. This is where the woes of internship and the realities of missionary work intersect. The reality is I’m just not going to be there regardless. For this year I am assigned to a church and these experiences are things I am going to need to learn how to maneuver around. Long term if I see myself remaining a missionary I am going to need to accept that my family is going to change while I am overseas. People will die, people will be born. People will marry, people will divorce. Missionaries carry the burden of following their vocation while leaving families behind and trying to balance both worlds. That is the sacrifice made to procure this call. As these anxieties continue to build I am left to ask myself the question, is this a commitment I am willing to take on?

Today, I do not have to deal with death and dying. For that I am thankful. I pray that our ancestors continue to look over us and that God protects us from all dangers. May She carry us through rough patches and lead us as we follow blindly by faith. 

#ReclaimMissionary