Death in our context

Our days ebb and flow like the ocean. Some days are like strong, cruel waves, crashing down with a deafening thunder, pulling under with a brutal strength anything in its path. Those days feel heavy, at times unbearable, and we hope for as few of these days as possible.

Other days the waves are so gentle, so soft, one can barely notice movement. It's easy to appreciate beauty in peaceful moments. 

In less than a week I've written about a variety of things. Mundane things, like reading and hot chocolate, and milestones of life, like my baby's first steps.

Today I carry a heavy story.

Our housekeeper arrived to our house this morning, after her usual two hour bus ride from her house to ours. She travels more than 4 hours by crowded bus, three days a week, to clean and occasionally cook for us. Soon she will add to her duties caring for Ruby for a few hours so that I can go to the office some mornings. She's been with us for about 5 months. She works extremely hard despite an ailing body to provide as a mother, a grandmother, and up until 4 days ago, a wife.

On New Year's Day her husband was walking with their 15-year old son to visit family when he was shot. It's assumed that some idiot drunk was shooting off his gun and it hit her husband. She arrived to the scene while he was injured but alive, only to watch him bleed to death.

We stood there in our kitchen this morning, her hands covered in suds while she washed our dirty dinner plates, tears in all of our eyes as she recounted what happened. I asked her what we could do, which I know is not helpful in situations like this, but the question still came out. Her response: "Pray. Because the pain in my heart is so great."

I was humbled. And we did pray for her. 

This type of accident is common enough that the newspapers felt compelled to issue a safety warning around the holidays regarding safe practices with fireworks and guns. Still, there were accidents reported, just like this one. 

The next day he was buried, there was a service, and life continues. She's back to her four hours of commuting to provide for her family, a job I assume she holds even more dearly without her husband around.

I'm sharing this story because I'm reminded how common death is here in Guatemala. This kind of accident happens in the US too, and I don't even want to go into the statistics of gun deaths by people who own their guns legally. But here in Guatemala, death is pervasive. Between extortions and gangs and bus driver murders, between corruption and poverty and desperation, almost everyone we know has been affected by death. Our first housekeeper became a widow with 4 young kids when her husband was murdered while driving a bus. For other people we know death is commonplace in their communities, among their family and friends and neighbors. Here, though, justice is rarely served (whatever that means). The person behind the trigger is rarely caught, let alone held accountable. It feels inevitable. Helpless. 

Death and pain is everywhere. Some days it's on the forefront of our minds, like today. There's not much to say or do in a situation like this. Pray. Hug my husband and my kids. Hug our housekeeper and cry with her as she mourns and grieves.