And so his son died...

And so his son died…

And so his son died…

One death among so many;

One unmarked, unmourned

Save in his father’s gaunt and haunted face.

And so his son died…

This man, barely eight years a Christian

Now straining to grasp the hope of the resurrection

While thrashing about in the raging sea of despair.

And so his son died…

One day smiling, laughing –

The next, unresponsive, comatose…

They never knew what took him – they just let him die.

And so his son died…

His pulse was normal – his temperature fine…

Was there some other force at work here?

Would that explain his sudden decline?

And so his son died…

They rushed him to the clinic – on to hospital from there…

He needed more money they said…“Wait!” he replied and ran to get more…

But he died anyway.

And so his son died…

He wrapped the body in his only bed sheet

And buried him at home.

We gave him another one…an empty one.

And so his son died…

We prayed, we loved, we hugged, we cried…

He was like a man winded…stunned…

As if rendered naked by death’s untimely theft of his son.

And so his son died…

Death is no stranger here, but unwelcome nonetheless.

Weeping does not last long here, but that makes no difference to the wound.

We have the living…but we have the dead too…

His son is dead and yet alive.

Johann van der Bijl © 2015