Shae's log: "...until the nights run out."

If you are still married and madly in love with the father of your children...

If you are divorced but maintain a friendly relationship with your kids' dad...

If you have conceded that he was only your 'baby daddy'...

Then you can probably understand what I am feeling right now.

In my previous blog I said that I would go every night and take care of Happy's father "until the nights run out."  Well today at 1:30 p.m., that is exactly what happened.  I got the call that Happy's father, Ewaldi Augustino Ngowi, had passed away.  I wanted so badly to hold back my emotions but somehow the tears kept quietly falling out of my eyes and slipped down my cheeks.  When I reached the top of my stairs, my housegirl Pendo was choking back tears while sweet Happy girl sat giggling in her arms.  Happy was all smiles at seeing me walk through the door and immediately ran for me to pick her up.  I tried to dry up my eyes but I found it was fairly futile.  As I got tissue from the bathroom, Happy ripped it out of my hands and did something that is actually so in character for her little soul.  She flipped my glasses off my face (thought they might break as they crashed to the floor. Ooops!), took the tissue to my tears, and then proceeded to stuff the paper up my nose to wipe it clean.  It was such a beautiful and sweet moment. In years to come she will understand the significance of those tears and how poignant her little two-year-old actions were today.  But for now, she just thought she was taking care of her mama in the exact same order I take care of her tears.  It was so touching that it made me want to cry more.  But I didn't.

I quickly gathered myself and rushed to the hospital to meet with the rest of Happy's family.  As we gathered together and moved our collective to Happy's uncle's house, more family members arrived --to my joy.  Of course, the occasion was solemn but the affections shared by each member that I had only seen from time to time was so needed. With the help of one of their friends who speaks beautiful English, we were all able to come to some decisions regarding Ewaldi's funeral and transport of his body.  I was so moved by their welcoming spirit.  It was made very clear that I was not there as a money machine.  I would help, sure, but every friend and family member chips in cash to cover burial expenses.  I explained that since Happy is so young, I must be there as a representative for her.  They all agreed that pictures were appropriate as she would want to know how we all came together in honor of her father.  It was so moving for me.  And heartbreaking.
Nomatter that limited time I had with Ewaldi, it is time that I will cherish for Happy.  He was so obviously intelligent.  And when sober and sound, a true gentle spirit.  His english, though limited, was so clear and beautiful.  I am forever grateful for his gifts-- both in the existence of Happy and his advocating for her to be my child. Nomatter how we feel about the men who father our children, we must give credit for they are part of the creation.  And even before I met him, I thought of him often.  Now he will always have a specific place in my heart.

The very last things he said to me after all the "business" was talked about, as he knew his time was ending, were these words:

"Tell me about Shae."

I held his hand as I spoke in English and my friend translated to make sure he understood every word.  I told him how spending these days with him was a privilege for me.  I told him about the success he brought to the adoption.  I told him about Happy's day and how already she looks at his pictures and says "baba, baba".  I told him she knows who he is as much as she knows me.  He smiled really big. He tried to squeeze my hand, and his VERY last words to me were this:

"Congratulations".

I gave him a half hug and left for the evening.  The next night (the 14th) was a difficult one as his breathing was labored and he could barely speak.  He stared at me.  Not creepily.  Not with confusion.  But with gratefulness and, dare I say it, honor.  As I fed him, I wondered if he knew it was me but there was no one to translate.  But then I heard him tell his sister that I had come again-- as if he was surprised-- but it was in Kiswahili and I didn't want to push him to try to think about translating his words to talk to me in English.  I eventually gave the food to his sister, and I propped him up and held his body as he was too weak to sit up on his own.  As the smell of death emoted from his skin, I kind of knew that night might be my last time to see him alive.  And I as I made plans this morning to come to the hospital equipped with materials to give him a bath tonight, there was a part of me that wondered if tonight would be our last time together.  But alas... our nights ran out.

I am devastated beyond words for my daughter.  AIDS has robbed her from ever knowing, smelling, feeling, touching, and hearing her father at a time when she would be old enough to remember.  The pain I feel for her is so great that its almost too much for me to bare.  Losing our parent while we are adults is horrific.  But we have a lifetime of memories to share and reflect.  Losing a parent before you are even old enough to talk-- well-- thats just cruel.    My only comfort is that he is with God now.  No, I don't believe that he is in heaven looking down over us.  That is not how I view death.  What I mean is that his fate is in God's hands.  I believe that one day upon our Lords return, we the living and the dead will raise up to heaven together.  And I have to believe that God will not leave Ewaldi behind.  And that is the only thing that I can teach my daughter to bring comfort to a situation that makes no sense.

In peace, Ewaldi Ngowi will now rest.  In faith, I will continue on the earthly fight for the life of his daughter.  And I'll be "happy' to do it.

~Shae

Happy, Baba Happy (Ewaldi), her auntie Editha and cousin Sharon. Only 1 month ago. A picture our family will cherish forever!