Bouncing legs a joyously painful ordeal;
Cradling arms, nurturing life, lovingly securing;
Joyous laughter at small words; scolding words
At unruly deeds; strained voices at arguments,
Fire blazing, painful tears at mistakes made,
Resentment held and the loss I’ve felt.
Fear for what she would or might become
Fear that your mistakes have forever maimed,
Of all the feelings you’ve felt and held
with strong arms, a strong heart; strong will
One remained unchanging. You loved me.
I have often heard it said that for a C section mum, their bodies did not fail them, but I have been struggling with this feeling for over four months, uneasy, feeling like it boarders on ungrateful and entitled. There are people out there that want children and can’t have them for whatever reason. I have been blessed with two.
My feelings are complicated … I am smitten with our latest addition and both my children fill my life with so much joy, and yet, I am filled with grief and it doesn’t really seem like there is anyone to turn to with that … because others would give anything to be cut. Others have encouraged me with quotes on how strong C section mothers are, and yet, when I wake up in pain every morning, and with doctors unable to pinpoint the origins of that pain– knowing that C sections are my future if I am to ever have more children–I am reminded that my body failed me. It didn’t birth my children how it was created to … and maybe in a sense, I failed it too.
The truth is sometimes I feel failed by others around me, and maybe even God. At different times I have found hope in the words of an understanding sister, selfless kin, a wise child … but none can quite fathom these feelings. Today I found hope in the words of someone whose hope of having children has been dashed … and I was reminded that even when our bodies fail us, God is still faithful. The same God who David in 1Chronicles 16:8 says we should call on … and rightly so because His name is a strong tower where we can take refuge (proverbs 18:10). Yes, He could have kept me from being here, and I don’t understand why, but for whatever reason, He didn’t, and yet, He is still good.
He is the same God who came through, when we prayed for a child for years and decided to accept whatever his answer was … The same God I cried to when I was told I potentially had an ectopic pregnancy and again cried to when I was told I was probably going to miscarry … He deserves our praise and while I waddle through these feelings, I will continue to call on Him because I know that He is the one who blesses without adding sorrow
God has been faithful in loss and pain, in joy and pleasure … in whatever season, He has been steadfast, my immovable rock … the ONE I can count on. So call on Him and see Him move.
This is the second post in what I am calling the 1 Chronicles 16 series. To read the first post here.
If you had asked me 2 weeks ago, I would have never thought it possible that we would be making phone calls asking about funeral arrangements for such a young life, I would have not believed it … maybe I would have done something differently … Weeks before, I had been prompted to read the words of Job when everything had been taken from him, and share them with my daughter. I Also shared the Song “Though You Slay Me” by Shane and Shane.
I’ve been playing this song on repeat for maybe 3 weeks and I thought God was just asking for faith in this time while we wait for my husband’s visa. I was not expecting the police call or the day that would unfold. My daughter’s best friend was missing and as we found out later that day, had passed away.
I have questioned God’s goodness and love, and where He was as she died, as I am sure others have. I have been in denial and angry, as I am sure others have been too. I have questioned my own role in her loneliness or her view that she was not valuable.
Here I am sitting in my car remembering my daughter’s face yesterday as her friend’s coffin was lowered into the grave. She has seemed strong but I wonder what questions have raged through her mind.
I have remembered my own struggles when I was younger, about Tadiwa’s age, and how God got me through … and yet, here is a beautiful child no longer with us, a child who professed Christ and was so loving and caring … how could he not give her hope? I have wondered why he saves some and doesn’t others, and how He could ever find glory in this … and I have no answers …
You often hear people talk about depression and “mental health” as a white people problem, often conflating mental health with depression or mental health disorders. Firstly, you cannot end the stigma of mental health or make mental health normal. Mental health is just mental health and does not mean poor mental health just like heart health does not mean poor heart health.
Mental health issues exist in Africa … yes, we may have lower suicide rates and lower diagnoses of depression and other ailments but there are issues and I don’t mean the kind you see exhibited in the classic — eating out of the garbage, taking clothes off in public — way. We see it clearly in people who lose a loved one and sink so deep into a depressive state that they die within six months. Those are the classic forms of mental health issues we see and acknowledge but mental health issues can vary for each person.
Most African societies are connected societies and we have people around us; There’s always a grandmother to talk to when you have problems or when you want a relaxed chat. Because our families and friends are so close, we learn we belong and even when the world feels like its caving in, we have a safe space in our families. That is the key, I think to our low expression of mental health issues … our clans provide a mitigating factor, there’s someone who says something encouraging even when we haven’t shared our problems, there’s always someone, when your nuclear family isn’t safe, because the child belongs to the whole family. We learn resilience by watching our large clan go through things and still stand, and by people holding us up when we feel lost and without hope. That’s why I think resilience is a community trait and not an individual one.
Don’t think I am parading African cultural practices as the best in the world, every culture has it’s good and bad, the point is, we do community well and I believe that mitigates our mental health woes. When we move to a country like Australia where life is so fast paced, and there is so few of us, these issues become more pronounced and hearing your people say “we don’t suffer from such things, we are African,” is not only unhelpful, it is damaging. We all struggle and fall and minimising other people’s pain because it doesn’t fit our perceptions is dangerous.
We claim mental health issues do not exist in our communutues, and yet, we buried a sweet soul yesterday, an African child, who seemed happy and okay … who has broken so many hearts and left her friends and family wondering what they could have done differently. A child in her prime, who felt so out of hope that death at her own hands seemed like a way out. It all seems like a bad dream and I keep expecting to hear a story from my daughter about what Tadiwa is doing with her life but everything is now in the past tense … Rest in peace Tadiwanashe Kapatika, aptly named, in your friendship with our child, “we have been loved by God.” In your gentle nature and excellence, “we have been loved by God.” We may not understand, but God who sees all and holds you, has every answer.
Blessings on a hill 