this is not right
In 2003 I traveled with World Relief to Mozambique. I experienced many things while I was there. I stood in vast plains where two years earlier mass flooding had displaced 500,000 people. I sat in huts with men and women who were dying of AIDS. I watched men and women who, without getting paid or receiving pats on the back, cared for those dying of diseases. I walked through shanty towns in Maputo witnessing some of the most inhumane living conditions. All of those things moved me to my core, but none of them moved me like the boy I met who was four days older than my son.
I was asked if I would like to hold this beautiful little boy. As he was being held to me, I asked how old he was, and was told that he was four months old. I smiled thinking of my boy who also was four months old. I smiled at how my son had started to smile, and recognize me. I smiled as I thought of his cooing and giggles when I would snuggle with him in the morning. I smiled because I loved my son more than my next breath.
When his mother handed her son to me she had the same smile on her face. I knew that like me she loved her son. As I held him, an aid worker asked me if I noticed how heavy the baby felt, if I noticed the thinning hair, and the enlarged stomach. He didn’t have to tell me anymore. This child was malnourished. Without help, I was told, he would die in six weeks, just shy of living six months. I looked at his mother who was seated on the other side of the shanty-hut that we were in. She was still smiling as she looked at her son.
Six days later I walked off an airplane walking with a quick pace. I knew at the end of the terminal my wife and son were waiting for me. I could not wait to see them. As I rounded the security area, there they were. My little boy dressed in his New York Yankees outfit, and the most beautiful women holding him with a smile on her face. I had seen a mother like this just days ago.
When I held my son I was suddenly struck with my experience. I could not imagine him living for only six more weeks. I could not fathom him not being a part of my world and my life. I could not for one second stand the thought of losing my son. These rapid fire thoughts were met with hurt for this mom that I had met. I would have my son and she would not.
This is not right.
What troubles me most is that it does have to be this way. This one experience profoundly shaped me. I had done some work on behalf of Africa before that time, but now have dedicated to moving as many as possible to join the fight against extreme poverty.