Tuesday, October 29, 2013

How to Introduce Henna to Alhassan

For the past few nights, as I lay awake I wondered to myself how and when would be the time to introduce Henna to Alhassan and how to explain where he is and why. When my mom lost Sarah I was six years old and had a much fuller concept of the fact that I was supposed to have a sister come home with us and then dealt with grief of losing the sister I KNEW was a sister before my parents even did.

Henna at two years old vaguely understood that something was going on as she kissed my belly goodnight every night before I tucked her in. I assumed that one day I would show her the lovely little handpainted box that was given to me by the chaplain at Riverside. It's a white oval shaped box with a teddy bear face delicately painted on it. Inside holds the blue crocheted blanket and tiny hat as well as the incredibly small blue gown that they dressed Alhassan in after they bathed him. It also holds a poem and a pearl in a sea shell. When his photos and his ashes come back from the Chaplain, they will be added to the box. This same sort of box was presented to my parents upon Sarah's funeral service and I took possession of it, constantly looking through it's contents and imagining what would never be. I think I was about 15 when I finally stopped looking in the box so often.

As fate would have it, I happened to show her her brother much before I ever imagined. I downloaded my iPhone and was flipping through his pictures when she appeared beside me. She said, "baby doll". I told her, "that's your baby brother, Alhassan." She tried her best to repeat his name saying the word "Albassan" which means onion in Moctar's native language, Hausa. I couldn't help but to smile. I told her to say bye bye baby and she added a sweet, gentle "I love you" on her own. My heart melted and poured through my tear ducts. I suspect she may just know more about what's going on than I think she does.




An angel, in the book of life,
Wrote down Alhassan's birth
Then whispered as she closed the book
"Too beautiful for Earth.."

1 comment:

  1. And now, sweet one, I am crying for all of you...reliving the day your baby sister was lost and I stood there as large as a house, pregnant with Ben, and feeling so guilty for being so full of almost new life. That poem at the end...I love it. I love you for being so bold to tackle your grief and not to dare to let it overwhelm you. It will, at times, but you have already vowed to not let it win. Oh, dear one...I am so very proud of you. Keep up the good fight!

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