Marbely

I initially started this blog six days ago but couldn't find the words, through my sheer anguish, to finish it. In my years of working with children in developing countries I always knew that losing a child was a possibility, and I thought I would be prepared for it. I can wholeheartedly confirm that this is something that I could have never been prepared for. I have experienced pain and frustration on so many levels when overcoming the obstacles that exist within this type of work.  I didn't know I could possibly hurt like this. When working with kids, it is said that the reward far outweighs the risk.... right now, my heart disagrees, upon losing a child I love. When I received the news, time actually stood still, I froze...it felt like my soul had completely fled my body, hallowed, and I could feel nothing until I had reached her front doorstep, 20 minutes later, and was walking into her funeral. This is what I wrote on a day I will never, ever forget:

"Have I done everything I can today?" This is the question that speaks loudest in my head, above all of the others, at the end of the day. It is also the question that steals my sleep at night and keeps me motivated in conditions that can sometimes be less than motivating. You see, for these kids, today really is all they have. They live every day, just to survive until the next one.

I am haunted by this question, at this moment, more than ever before. I have just returned home from the funeral of Marbely, a 9-year-old girl and student at Escuela Especial. Someone I loved very much. Today, I stood in her home and stared at her face one last time, through a tiny window in her casket. Had I done all I could? As I stood over her I just kept repeating the words, "I'm sorry" to her in my head, over and over. I watched as her best friend Maura put her arms around her casket and said to me, "Marbely is sleeping and I will wait right here until she gets up." She didn't understand and had to be pulled away by one of the teachers, my pain grew to its breaking point. Asking myself if I had done all I could do...In that moment, I knew I had failed.

I struggle with what to write, how to have this make sense. If I would have come a day earlier would she still be here? She was sick last week but I never asked for how long or if anyone had checked on her...something I would normally had done. When the pieces started to come together, it only got worse. I had a doctor come to the school to treat Marbely last October. He prescribed medication for her failing heart and a week later I arranged for her to be given a sonogram on her heart with a portable machine used for pregnant women. This precious piece of equipment was the only thing in within hundreds of miles that would have worked and was hard to gain access to, but I pushed. I was told she would be alright with medication, so I supplied her with it. Fast forward to last week, she had missed 20 days of school and her medication had run out. With everything else going on at the school, I wasn't told until it was too late, but I also didn't remember to ask. The day before the funeral, the principal had stopped by Marbely's home to check on her. She was very weak and the principal urged Marbely's guardian, her 85 year old grandfather, to take her to a doctor. Neither the grandfather nor the principal could afford to take her there....she died four hours later from a heart attack. The visit would have cost $5.

I can choose to dwell over all the raw sadness and pure frustration I feel over this or I can choose to think forward to how to prevent this from ever happening again. The only thing that makes me feel better right now is focusing on being able to make progress towards a solution. My solution is to set up a small fund for the principal, Juana, to use toward doctor visits and medication when I am not in the country. I am also setting up a message board in her office to keep track each day of who is sick, for how many days and if they have received medical attention. Juana will be held accountable for receipts, weekly updates and communication with parents and teachers. She is more than up to the challenge, this is the 10th funeral she has attended for one of her students, the school needs help. She is more of a parent to these children than their actual parents are and having to plan funerals for her students has taken its toll.

This fund will be called the Marbely Memorial Fund. I will also use a small portion to help with funeral expenses after learning that Marbely's grandfather buried her in the coffin he had saved for his whole life, that he was supposed to be buried in. If you would like to help you can do so through the donate button on this blog, please specify that your donation is for Marbely. I am so grateful for your support and so is this school.

 I am leaving to meet our fist group of student volunteers in Cambodia, in less than a week. Getting this fund going before I leave is my top priority. I will return to Nicaragua on July 12th but I don't want to have the fear that this could happen again while I am gone. I appreciate any and all help that will put this plan into action. I also appreciate you caring enough about these children and my mission to help improve their health and happiness. I will never forget Marbely, or the way she made me work to get her to smile. I had to earn her trust and love because of a long line of adults who had failed her. I hope, in this instance, that she didn't see me as one of them. She experienced more devastation in her short life than is even fathomable to most people. Her face has taken a permanent place in my thoughts and will always serve as motivation to stay strong on my path to help children. Someone once wisely said, "You have three choices in life... give in, give up or give it everything you've got." Rest in peace, sweet girl.