The Broken Hearts Club

I recently joined the Twittersphere. I cannot give a verdict on it yet, as I am still learning the language. For quite a long time, I was disenchanted with it and thought of it as a series of “instant status updates,” rather ridiculous and unnecessary, to reference a term from yet another social media experiment. The more I search and “follow” people and see that people I do not even know are “following” me, the more I am amazed at how people are searching for affirmation, acknowledgement and connection, and how giddy they will get if a public figure replies to them. It is also fascinating that there can be this indirect-yet-direct communication between individuals who perhaps would have zero association otherwise. For me, being so far removed from US culture, it has been a fun new way to access and receive links, quotes, information and photos from organizations and people I admire. And, I admit, I found it rather awesome when a celebrity responded to a tweet I had sent! The most awesome part about it was that it had nothing to do with celebrity, but everything to do with current events and issues facing the global population. Specifically, it was that she shared an article on the Haitian death toll after Hurricane Sandy and was being criticized by a young American who felt that “we Americans should look after our own first, and worry about other countries later.”

I wrote a blog post last year about my near run-in with a Kardashian, and the definition of a beautiful person. In my short tenure with NPFS, I have met a few celebrities, and am impressed that the genuineness of their intent, or lack thereof, is quickly obvious. To those who are truly interested in understanding the people, culture and needs of Haiti, and in drawing attention to our global citizenship, these visits are not about a photo op, but about lives. The lives of little boys and girls who jump into their arms and want to know if said individual knows Creole. The children who ask again and again if I have a mommy and a daddy, and if I got to go to school, and how the airplane that is taking me on a trip is able to land without hitting all of the houses underneath it. The children who write in beautiful cursive and painstakingly copy pictures, not believing me when I assure them that coloring outside the lines is ok! The children who get to attend secondary school for free, in a country where over 80% of the population will not complete 6^th grade, because a group from the entertainment industry saw what Fr. Rick has been doing here and wanted to work with him. The children suffering from the horrendous disease of cancer but who can still smile after a blood draw or IV placement is finished, whose eyes light up in response to my greeting.

I mentioned in the previous post that the heaviness, much more than the lightness, which comes with this experience has been much more present to me. The light moments are still there, such as a shared laugh this morning with my brave little friend who yelled, “Bravo!” when I told him his picky was finished, then immediately stopped crying and demanded a well-deserved piece of candy. The humor and faux-defeated look in the teenager’s face when I caught her off-guard and sat her down for a forced hair-washing session.  (Two months without shampooing was long enough, and the silly girl bragged about it – she was asking for an intervention!) Sherlin’s portrait of me (see below). The fact that everyone in the cancer ward now calls me “Bibbitte,” thanks to the little boy who cannot pronounce “Brigitte.” The early mornings with the two boys who work tirelessly at our volunteer kitchen, as they tease me about my coffee intake and get me to laugh out loud, no matter how poorly I have slept. The smile that comes to my face as I watch the cows cross the road, and I notice that the mother cows stop, turn their heads to block their babies from crossing, check that traffic is clear, then proceed. Sitting with Steven, who is fighting a septic infection, as he places his hands in mine and tells me with a smile, “Your hands are so warm.” The joy of sharing long-awaited news with our kindergarten principal, that she is finally pregnant. Her disbelief and the energetic hug I receive when I repeat that, “Yes, it’s true! I will start calling you mama!” 

Brigitte, according to Sherlin, aged 8

Sitting with the bravest of the brave

There are times that the immensity of the poverty here and the weight of this experience literally take my breath away. The clouds of burning trash are becoming more frequent and acrid. The crises which come each day to interrupt even the most flexible plan are constant. Death is never far away, and comes from conditions which could be cured from a simple doctor’s visit in the States and a prescription.  

I held the hands of an 11-month-old girl who arrived to the oncology ward much too late, and on the last day of her life, we shared a few moments’ gaze as I kissed her fingers and massaged her flaccid arms. Several young children’s bodies have been found in the fields surrounding the hospital, likely left there by panicked mothers who feared the reprimand of others because they could not transport their sick children to us in time. The sadness is palpable, the desperation visible. Attempts to empower are met with frustration and confusion. The desire to dignify and teach is pushed aside by the demand for a quick fix and continued culture of dependence. The deficits and disparities are nauseating, the scale of emotions and amount of energy spent each day excruciating. The threat of famine now sits over this country, as 90% of the agriculture grown on the farms in the south and west was destroyed in Hurricane Sandy. What took years to create will take years to change and undo. Thousands of moments each day, I must pause and remember this as I yearn to demonstrate compassion, patience and understanding. 

There are still those who believe that Haiti should die, and who are unafraid to express their vehement hate under the supposed disguise of the internet. But we are commanded to love our neighbor as ourselves, and I believe that includes a global responsibility. Respect, in my eyes, is a right, not a privilege. We are all called and moved by different causes, and we have a responsibility to give generously toward those causes in the ways that we are able. Some of us are called to work locally, others internationally. I am moved every day by the numerous opportunities I have to choose love, and I pray that I meet that challenge. It is easy to look back at night, and to think through all of the tasks still left undone. But it is critical to our survival here to look beyond those, and to cherish the unexpected moments (and believe me, those are countless!) which provided us the chance to dignify, to listen, to embrace, to give, to laugh and to be present to those we encountered. 

An afternoon walk with a few of my oncology kiddos

Sweet Valson, thriving at the Kay Germaine school

Just a little chat with my girl Erline

 The pain of the distance between here and my home stateside is especially acute in seasons of loss and grief. I learned of the passing of a young hero who shares my name, Bridget the Brave.  Some dear friends have learned that their child will be born with a broken heart. Another friend is suffering greatly with serious illness. I strive to be practically available to those I love when they are in need, and to be so far away and unable to do so is excruciating. To let go of that ability and to trust that my love and friendship can survive without being personally present is not an easy concept for me. I love to give, in word and in deed, and the separation tears at my heart and mind. So, I walk to the places where I can be present, witnessing the bravery of young cancer patients and watching the little ones at our Angels of Light homes grow and thrive. I enter the gate, hear my name and hug the little one who rushes toward me with all of his might. I sit for several minutes holding Steven, warming his hands with mine. I listen to the nurses as they passionately share their observations about how the clinic still needs to improve. I bring extra bobby pins to the hospital for the afternoon so Nellie can braid my hair. I rejoice when Kevin smiles, a rare occurrence, and watch him grow in confidence as the days pass and his appetite returns after his course of chemotherapy.

This world is broken; our hearts are broken as well. We see evidence of this on a daily basis. Our heartbreak may be physical, emotional, or spiritual. Some of us try to avoid facing it; others tend to dwell on it incessantly. We are often quick to give an opinion as to why we suffer, to place blame and to divide, but we are not so willing to sacrifice or work for change. My challenge to myself during this season is to examine my heart, to be genuine, to exercise passion and discernment, and to be the love to those around me that I so crave to have. In loving others, in giving to others, in listening to others, in being willing to understand others when we are tempted to judge them, in encouraging honesty, we can begin to heal the brokenness.

Elie Weisel said, “The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.” May we choose to rebuke apathy, and in doing so, choose to feel, act and love generously and genuinely. In turn, we can induce change and find peace.