My Life as an African Gypsy

Sometimes we have to choose thanks. Sometimes we have to choose praise.

So this Thanksgiving the choice is a little more difficult, yet I will... I will choose thanks.

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I am thankful for the opportunity that I had to know a 13 year old boy named Marcelino. Marcelino was a different boy; he was gentle and kind, willing to share and help others, without the prodding of adults. It was natural to him, who he was.

Sure he was 13, so he had his moody days, but he was sick and not feeling well, so I couldn't blame him. Sometimes I would leave the hospital giggling at his little 'moods', asking Jon if he had been the same with him... usually yes. But I loved that boy, moods and all.

He started his time in Oncology so shy, embarrassed by the large tumor growing over eye. Jon set out, determined to get through to him. Through soccer and Jon's usual craziness, Marcelino was quickly won over. He even chose to join Jon's Bible study, though his dad was uninterested. I remember Jon telling me how well he read. I could see his admiration of Jon, the way he loved him and respected him. It was special to me.

One day there was a woman that was extremely sick, and I frantically wanted to get her some juice. She had requested a certain kind, and I didn't know where to go. Marcelino graciously walked me to the store across the street. He seemed a bit embarrassed to be walking with me, a white lady, and offered to wait outside while I went in the store. I smiled inside... tempted to grab his hand to make it more awkward. Ha! We chit chatted about life, what he wanted to be when he grew up. He said a doctor. I explained that it was difficult, but I thought he could do it; he was smart! I told him about Paul, Jon's brother, who is currently in pursuit of becoming a doctor.

I remember taking our first ultrasound picture of Anaya to the hospital. In his usual shy way, he didn't push to the front to see the picture like the other kids. He almost seemed uninterested... until he saw her. He couldn't hide his fascination. Each month we'd tell them what day we'd bring a new photo, and Marcelino would smile. Seeing her would automatically brighten his day, even on his moody days. Almost each visit he'd ask how she was doing, and I'd pat my belly and tell him she was growing. Marcelino loved my daughter. Today I'll write Anaya about him... tell her how before she was born she was impacting lives, and as Jon says, she is already changing the world.

Just two weeks ago, or so, Marcelino's mood turned, a little more permanently. His tumor had grown, what seemed like overnight. He had a few rough rounds of chemo. Jon and I would talk between ourselves about how he seemed depressed, and we tried figure out how to lift his spirits. Nothing seemed to work.

This past weekend Marcelino health took a turn for the worse. When I saw him on Monday I couldn't believe my eyes. How quickly death had come upon him. I climbed in bed with him, trying comfort him, to be close to him. In his pain, he had bit his tongue, causing a fairly steady flow of saliva and blood to flow out of his mouth. His breath screamed death... it was the same smell as Jose Manuel; Jon and I know that smell too well.

The past two nights ended in bed with many tears.

This boy, who had only one week before been playing outside, now lay unable to control any bodily functions, unable to swallow, unable to talk, to make sense. He would come in and out of delirium, suddenly reminded of his pain... crying out and moaning. His heart rate remained elevated, as if he were running, even in his sleep. At that point I knew his heart couldn't last long.

Rubbing his legs, I noticed the scars on his knees. I couldn't help but think what a normal boy this was. A boy with stories of his childhood, stories of falling, of being silly, of running with his brothers. So normal...

Running my hand over his hair, I prayed for a quick passing. I prayed for visions of Jesus' face, visions of heaven amidst his delirium. I prayed for God to look at him through the blood of Jesus, for God to save his soul. I prayed for the eyes of the Lord to look upon Marcelino and for Him to have mercy.

This morning at 6:45am, we got the phone call from his dad. Marcelino's suffering had ended. Jon and I laid in bed for a few moments, thanking the Lord, sighing in relief. And then we got up. We put on clothes, as our prayers and comfort shifted from Marcelino, to his grieving father.

After some time at the hospital, Jon and I drove home. We cried a bit, remembering our friend... for me, remembering his love for our daughter. We got home and made coffee, still talking about our time with him... the good moments and the horrific ones at the end.

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Tomorrow is Thanksgiving.

I choose thanks.

For Marcelino's life, for the opportunity to know him, for my hope in the redemptive power of Christ, for my husband who loves deeply, for my daughter, for our health, for my family, for friends, for support, for my home, for my bed, for worship music, and on and on...