A letter to my dear Bedica:Dear Bedica,
The thought of writing this letter makes my computer screen blurry. There is a fog completely clouding my brain and the tears are worse than any downpour God could have the clouds muster. I am heartbroken, for you will never be able to read this. And not because it's in English, but because you are no longer with us.
My fingers tremble with every keystroke. You were our own. Family. My daughter. My sister. Whatever you were, you were in my heart. And with all of our time together and the frequency with which you pooped on me I have to imagine I was in yours as well. I spent the majority of your life with you. When your mother showed me your problem you were a patient. Another medical condition. #2mofWithAnalAtresia&SevereMalnoutrition But after weeks, then months, of caring for you, you were no longer my patient.
Bedic, you were going to be beautiful. Even at the ripe age of 6 months I knew it. Course, some of my friends would joke that you fall into my key demographic @MattWatts @DougSorenson @NicoTurla #Room201. You were showing life and energy during our play dates. Eye contact. Head support. And a hell of a social smile. Forevermore limited to pictures. I think that's what is the worst part. You never smiled when you were in Haiti. Evidence of how sick and malnourished you were I'm sure. But a month of donated breast milk - and like five pounds - later, no one could stop you from showing off your gums. Your skin was so much better. Your gorgeous poof of hair was no longer brittle.
You were healthy. You were going to grow big and strong. Blow past your developmental milestones. Pincer grasp? Nailed it. Stack nine blocks? At two years and 9 months, easy. Bilingual from your coos on. Agente Santi before high school. And you were definitely going to go to school. CHI would have made sure of it. I would have made sure of it. College? In the states, of course. I would have strongly lobbied for my alma mater @UIllinois, but I would have been open to suggestion. Imagine the possibilities of your collegiate education. Medical emphasis would be too easy for you. That's almost cliched. But at the same time you would be an amazing patient advocate. Art would be sweet. Your masterpieces would've lifted the spirits of every man, woman and child in La Digue. Or literature. You would've written some badass novels I'm sure. Engineering? I know a guy that could've helped you get %50 in general engineering classes. He builds bridges now. Maybe you two could've designed a nifty zip line system to help us get back into the mountains easier #NoMoreFiveHourHikes. Education? Knowing you, you would've been an educator in everything that you did. I could do this forever. #ImagineThePossibilities #Limitless (By the way, the #, or "hashtag" is something that I don't really understand either, Bedic, but I like it as kinda a subject signpost. You would've loved it once you set up your twitter account @TheRealBedica)
Instead of the above, you passed on to heaven. I can only imagine that if it were possible for people to become angels that you would be one. You're too damn adorable for God to pass up giving you wings and a halo. But I'm not sure if that's how things work. I will know soon enough. Until then I can only pray that you will be taken care of. I can take solace in the fact that you will know no further pain or discomfort. Whatever ailed you these last few days can no longer bother you.
It came as a surprise to me. I was excited and anxious about your return to Haiti. And obviously we could not keep you here indefinitely. Your mom missed you. Your dad missed you. Both of our governments tend to frown upon Americans taking Haitian babies and keeping them without going through the proper channels. I have been plotting out my own return to Haiti whenever the realization that you wouldn't be staying in Iowa City dawned on me. Weekend trip to check on my girl? No problem. Heck, another month of work for CHI would go so quickly if every morning I got to walk to your place and hold you for a bit. Maybe we could avoid the pooping on my part.
I was thinking this October. You would've been so big by then. Almost a year old. Maybe not big enough to walk yet, but I definitely could've taught you how to give knucks. I would've spoiled you. Solange's amazing fresh fruit juices every morning for breakfast. Mashed mango nightly under the stars. It was supposed to be a movie worthy story. But instead it's a heartbreak.
You suffered the fate that a majority of your peers succumb to. My surveys confirmed the common thought that diarrheal illnesses wreak havoc on kiddos with your particular vulnerabilities. And I don't mean your past medical history. I mean the fact that you're in rural Haiti with no money, a poorly educated family, poor access to treated water, doctors trained in substandard conditions are far away, cannot receive routine blood tests due to monetary concerns, and I can just go on and on and on. The more I list the more anger becomes my prominent emotion. You would've learned this eventually, but I hate emotion. However, anger is just one of the many emotions one is supposed to experience during the stages of grief. Thank God I don't really care about psych cause I don't know the others. Guess I'll figure them out.
This sucks. Death sucks. #Devastated You didn't get the chance to learn about my past, but I'm not naive to having unexpected passing of loved ones. It hurts, every time. And no offense to my grandma or Adam, but this one seems particularly painful. Have you met either of them yet? Don't think they speak Creole, and if they do don't believe any of the stories they try and tell you about me. Definitely not true.
I can't seem to bring myself to finishing this letter. It's awful. I know I'm prone to rambling, but this is pretty impressive #FlightOfIdeas #RumDoesThat. I guess once I click send/submit/publish it's over. For good. Our story comes to an end. You touched my heart, Bedica. No doubt about it. You've also made me realize how incredibly selfish I am. I want you here, back in the U.S. I want you safe in your SIDS proof crib and wearing that pink, Hawkeye onesie I bought you. Curled up with one of the twenty blankets that all those awesome people aware of your story gave us. I want to be able to hold you again. Play patty-cake. Support your head while you take a bottle. Hell, I wouldn't even complain if you pooped on me. But that is not how this story ends. I love you Bedica and will always dream about what you were destined to accomplish.
Sincerely,
Dr. Matt
