C for Carol

Today is three months since Carol died. Although she actually died on the 12th of April, she died in the evening and her burial was on the 13th.

This is something that I wrote a long time ago, in Uganda, after I had finished a guitar lesson with Brian, a little boy with Spina Bifida.

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              I sit on the edge of the bed with one of my favourite kids in the world. Brian, my eight year old buddy, sits beside me on his bed with his guitar and we practice together. It doesn’t matter that he can’t walk and that his room-mate sleeps in a hospital bed. The rain falls gently outside, Kakande and Kakulu come back and forth, both trying to get a turn with the guitar or listen to us play. The aunties and uncles in the other room talk and Allen lays on the floor.

             

             Brian and I strum some chords, we play our E minor song, quietly first and then growing louder and louder as Brian’s smile grows larger and larger and he laughs. We then go back and forth between G and E minor, then back to G trying to teach his fingers how to switch. We laugh together and smile trying to figure out the chords and move our fingers faster and faster.

           When we stop for a moment he sighs deeply and gives a quirky little smile and holds his fingers. 

           “Ah, come on Brian, we can keep going” I look at his fingers, slightly dented by the guitar strings and press them back and forth. ”What other chords have you learned?” After a few moments of silence I ask, “what about C?”

          “C?” 

            He looks at me confused, and then back at his guitar. He fumbles with his fingers, placing them loosely on the strings. Although they aren’t quite there, I rearrange his fingers and tell him that that is C, holding up the sign language sign.

           “C for Carol?” he asks wistfully.

            Something inside me sinks, but on the outside, I smile, “Yes, C for Carol.”

           In Special Needs Class, every child and staff member has a sign. Normally it is the letter of the alphabet either held up in front of you or placed on a shoulder or on the head if there is more than one person with the same letter. There were 4 C names-Carol, Christine, Catriona, and Christina, but Carol had always been first-just a plain C held up in front.

           As Brian remembers Carol’s sign that he had been taught for many years it is a bittersweet reminder. I remember when we would sing Carol the morning song and she’d just start to laugh. I remember when I would hold Carol’s hand to form her sign, or put my hand to her cheek and whisper her name into her ear. I remember how big of a part she was in Brian’s life. And in a way, I wish we could do it all again. That I could whisper into her ear and call her name until she smiled. That Brian wouldn’t have that slightly confused and sad look about him when he talked about Carol.

         We go back to our guitars and we switch back to the G chord and then E minor. The breaks in between each chord grow longer as we talk about the rain, talk to Kakande, and rub our sore fingers (or Brian’s at least).

          “Do you want to sing Bless the Lord?” I ask, knowing what the answer will be.

           Brian nods and I tell him to start playing G. 

          I start to sing and I think about Carol. Because Bless the Lord is Carol’s song and everything in it reminds me of her. From praising God, morning to night regardless of how much I miss Carol, to worshiping God for how good He has been in Carol’s life, to remembering that Carol’s earthly life has ended but her ten thousand years and forever have begun.
     
          I can’t remember what I used to think of that song before Carol died, but it is so much more special to me now. I love to sing it with Brian, because when I didn’t want to praise God after Carol died, he and Wilson reminded me to through this song. Maybe he doesn’t fully understand all the English words but just as Hassan shouts when we sang this song the other day, Brian gets it too. There is a strange simplicity about it that just doesn’t give up bringing a powerful message. Just like Carol. Carol was a simple little girl, there was nothing big, bold about her but her life conveyed such a powerful message. A message of unconditional love.

         After that song, Brian and I sing a few more with our guitars and then we talk. Talk about my guitar going back to America with my Jajja (until we forgot to send it with him). We talk about where everyone in Hassan’s house sleeps and we talk about Carol. We talk about my going back to Canada and one day, Brian joining the choir at church. We laugh and smile, and talk in broken English and Luganda.

        I head home a little bit later than planned with a smile across my face. Much more than that, my heart is full of joy. Music and laughter ring in my ears. Life with Brian and everyone else in Hassan’s House has been so special to me since Carol died. Nothing is taken for granted anymore and even through the hard and bittersweet moments in life, there is joy.