House of rest.

Stephen was a rare and gracious man who allowed the Living Room team to care for him during his last days on earth. He was referred to our hospice home, Kimbilio Center, from the nearby HIV clinic; however, unlike a majority of the patients treated in the clinic, he was an older man who had lived to see his grandchildren. He was a man with a wealth of lived experience and many wonderful stories to tell. Stephen was old enough to remember the colonial days; and when he first met me, he called me “mumsup”, a term that the Africans were required to call white women during the colonial period. I cringed as I realized the gap that history had left between us. I immediately told him, in Swahili, “please call me Chepkios”, a tribal name that was given to me nearly ten years ago when I first visited Kenya.  I am grateful that he agreed. I am humbled and amazed that, within a few days, he chose to trust me.

His wisdom revealed that, culturally, in “the old days” when someone was sick they would not stay within their own home. They would travel to another home, usually of an extended family member, to find a place to rest. He explained to us that he had chosen Kimbilio Center to be that place for him. He wanted to use his remaining time to get his home and family back in order. He desired for us to help mediate in this process, and that is what we did. It was remarkable to witness the clarity and sense of purpose Stephen maintained during this time. After two weeks, Stephen, with a sense of urgency, expressed that it was time for him to return home. As I sat at his bedside and listened to his request, it was clear to me that he had completed what he had come for. Although his journey was not yet finished, he had found peace. He was going home to die.

Upon reaching home, Stephen asked for his pastor to come so that he could be baptized. This was his last request. A few days later, I went to visit him in his home. What a beautiful experience it was to be at his bedside and to see him surrounded by his family. By God’s grace, they had been reunited.

Stephen woke up; and although his voice was weak and barely audible, he called me by name. I was moved by the way the love of Christ had narrowed the gap between us. As we prepared to leave Stephen’s home, one of our team members said: “there is no way to quantify all that has taken place. Juli, you have been talking about ‘quality of life’, but I did not understand it until now. The peace that has come to Stephen is immeasurable.”  Two days later, we received word that Stephen had passed away in his sleep with his family by his side.

As we grieve the loss of our friend, I also think about the gift it was to know Stephen. He taught us, as the Living Room team, many lessons that can only be learned through experience. I am grateful for the ways he, as an elder, affirmed and blessed the work we are doing.  His life and death have been a reminder to me, as Rossiter Worthington Raymond so eloquently put it, that, “life is eternal, and love is immortal, and death is only a horizon, and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight.”