Hearts Entwined

I don't often cry, but I did today.

Several times.

I cried for Ablavino whose oldest child, Ablavi, died yesterday after a long illness stole her twenties from her. For talkative, opinionated Ablavino whose voice has been silenced by a hard-hearted husband. For Ablavino who mourns alone as the rest of her family wails and cries out that Ablavino's faith in Jesus brought about this tragedy.

I cried for Brenda, who first saw Ablavi as a friend and later embraced her family as her own.

I cried for Murphy and Christine, for Marty and Louise, who search for ways to offer help and comfort, who live in a place where the questions are so difficult and the answers harder still.

I cried for Edemno and Delano and Suzanne and all the other mothers of Zebe who try so hard to keep their children safe but fail again and again.

I cried for Sandi and Jenna and myself as small pieces of our hearts wither with the loss of friends beyond our reach.

I cried for Ablavi and the choices she made, the choices made for her. I haven't been in her life in many years, but I have a hundred pictures of her in my mind... of her braiding Esi's hair, or pounding fufu, or fetching water from our faucet, or repeating a phrase to me for the fifteenth time until I truly understood.

I told her story to a girl today, a girl about the same age Ablavi was when we first met. This girl said, "The death of one is a story; the death of millions a statistic."

I thank God that Ablavi was not just a statistic. Her life touched mine. Her story is part of my story. Against all logic and reason, our stories are entwined.