I have decided flashbacks are a bit like that. something pushes the button and the light explodes in your mind revealing images of a time passed, while you are unable for a while to focus on the present, on reality, on the now.
I remember shortly after an traumatic hijacking attempt, on of the pastor's prayed for me that I wouldn't have any flashbacks. Truthfully it worked, except for once. I remember walking to my car, across a parking lot and I heard footsteps running toward me and instantly it hit me, like someone pushing that flash button, the whole night came rushing back over me at the sound of those footsteps. It turned out to be a young kid running to catch up with their mother. It was a terrifying moment, but the only one from that incident. It gave me great sympathy for people with PTSD who suffer with flashbacks. . . and then...
4 Years ago, occuring on the 21 and 22 May 2012, a traumatic event shaped my life. A precious friend, Dorina, was taken from me [and the lives of others who love her] by a horrible curve ball that life through our way. I can honestly say that this has forever shaped my life. You would think 4 years on that it would be easier, and in many ways it is. I can now actually speak about the incident, which i couldn't before. [in fact i wrote about it, in great lengthy detail - I've copied and pasted this below the pictures, after the page break. It is a bit graphic, and lengthy, so only for those with a lot of time on their hands, and who can face trauma - please remember its my account, of what i experienced in this story, and how i interpreted events].
But the flashbacks still occur. They don't occur as frequently, but they still occur, and I don't always know what will trigger them. I know these will get less and less and will eventually fade, but as i said, i do believe this is something that will mark my life, and has changed my life forever. i am not sure if it was more traumatic because i didnt have time to process it, or because of the levels of trauma involved in the incident, not just the incident itself but the confusion and watching others you love go through the trauma and hurting. but i do know the heart is healing, as the Healer holds it, and hopefully a day will come when the flashbacks will cease all together even though, my life is shaped differently because of this incident.
It was the day a precious woman died in a horrible bus accident on a beautiful stretch of the Albanian coastline. She is sorely missed, my life was enriched knowing her this side of eternity and i cant wait to meet up with her in eternity again. Dorina is one who touched my heart forever, perhaps that is why her story touched me so deeply.
THE GIRL WITH A BROKEN SMILE
This is one of the experiences that has
left its mark more than I cared to admit in the beginning. Truthfully
it was such an unexpected curve ball, and so dramatic and at a time
where life was on overdrive, that I don't think I had time to process
any of it. It is one that has forever changed something in me and one
that has raised more questions in my life than many other things I
have walked through. So it seems fitting that this is one of the
first ones I share.
It’s about one of the most beautiful
young woman I have ever met. I will use her real name, as this story
is well known in the nation I was in, even being featured in the
news. Whereas, in many other stories, I might not use real names,
and even in this story other characters might not be known by their
real names.
Dorina was a ray of sunshine. She was
in her early twenties and was the type of girl who walked into a room
and the room lit up. When you speak to anyone about Dorina, whether
they were Christian or not, they will tell you 2 things about her. 1]
She loved people with all her heart. And 2] she loved God with all
her heart. Honestly, after she became Christian if she wasn’t
talking about God she was singing about him. One of her deepest
desires, besides qualifying as a teacher, was to go back to the town
she came from and help start the worship team in her cousin's church.
Dorina was an incredibly affectionate
person and surprising loud for a girl from that culture. In that
culture it was not appropriate for a girl to laugh loudly in public
or be noisy or draw attention to herself in public. But Dorina was so
full of joy that it always overflowed. She loved singing and dancing
and often was one of the first with the karaoke mic in her hand. She
wasn’t scared to have fun and lived life fully. Yes she had flaws,
but I don’t see any point in dredging those up at this time. We all
have flaws, let’s rather celebrate the good.
Dorina came into the church and with
her type of personality very quickly became part of the family. She
was in the young adults/youth group that I was leading at the time
and I helped disciple her. She was frequently in my home and honestly
became like a baby sister to me. All the other girls in the group
revolved around her and looked to her. If there was anything we were
going to do that the other girls were not so interested in doing but
Dorina said she wanted to do, then immediately the other girls would
change their minds and come along. Many of the girls in the group
lived together. They were students from different towns and often
shared rooms in rented flats while they studied at the university in
my town. So there was a closeness in the group, especially among the
girls.
In her last year at university, just
before her final exams, an excursion was announced. As I mentioned
most of these girls were sharing rooms, 3 or 4 girls crammed in a
room, some sharing beds because they were not rich. Schooling and
university is technically free, obviously expenses of stationary etc.
and boarding being your responsibility. But the truth is that
university was not free. Many times the professors would demand a
bribe or a favour in order to mark your exam paper. I know many a
young girl and guy who have completed their studies but never got
their certificates or final exams graded because they wouldn’t pay
the bribe price, because the bribe prices was not something they
could afford. Some professors were even worse and would ask for
“other favours” in return for grading papers. And then some were
more creative. This particular professor organised an excursion. It
had nothing to do with any of the subject material they were
learning. If this professor took an excursion of students down the
south of this nation to its gorgeous beaches, then during the summer
months the professor and his family stayed free in a hotel for two
weeks down on these beaches as a “thank you”. From the hotel.
This was the information given to me by
Dorina as she sat, crying in my lounge on a Saturday morning. She did
not have the money to pay to go on this excursion but if she didn’t
go on this excursion then she wouldn’t be allowed to write that
particular exam. It meant she wouldn’t get her final diploma and
her studies would be wasted, she would have to wait a year to rewrite
and then again have to pay a bribe to write. She was so frustrated.
The excursion was on the Monday and she didn’t know what she was
going to do.
I sat there juggling so many
conflicting ideas. My guilt culture trained brain was screaming that
bribery and corruption were wrong. My Christian brain was screaming
that bribery and corruption were wrong according to my
interpretation. But having lived in this type of honour culture that
they, including the christians viewed it differently. [man I wish had
I listened more closely in the Christian Ethics lectures at bible
college] I also knew that if she took a stand against it she might
never get that diploma. Another Christian girl I know refused the
bribe and for 5 years had been trying to write that final exam
unsuccessfully I knew this girls career was on the line without a
diploma. And even in that, just to get the job she would probably
have to pay a bribe price. I also know that these families,
recovering after 50 years of communism, were poor and many of the
parents were unemployed and relied on their children's incomes to
survive. So how do you advise a young woman facing these decisions?
Truthfully I didn’t. I comforted and told her to pray about it.
Because I didn’t fully know what to tell her or how to tell her.
And today a part of me wishes I had rather been straight and told her
to not bow to bribery. But I didn’t. Guilt is a terrible thing, but
it doesnt guarantee speaking up would have changed the circumstances.
I know she left my house and visited a
few other people that day. I know it was eating at her. She had been
restless and wrestling with this for over a week. Sunday morning we
arrived at church as per normal. Dorina seemed less stressed, back
to her normal cheerful self. Just after worship she asked the pastor
if she could share a testimony. She stood up and with bright eyes and
a big smile shred how stressed she had been about this upcoming
excursion. But how miraculously God had provided the money. That on
Saturday night, someone had given her the money and it showed her the
faithfulness of God. Everyone expressed their joy. Looking back my
brain struggles with this. If bribery and corruption are wrong how
could God have provided or lead someone to provide? Or maybe I want
to blame the bribery because its easier than admitting God did
provide because then my anger might focus on him, or because it
doesnt fit into my box of how I see God.
However, honestly, on the day when she
shared it, it didn’t cross my mind. Truthfully I was too
distracted in church between translating the sermon into English in
my brain and watching the street boys that I worked with to make sure
they behaved, my mind wasn’t always fully focused on the
announcements and other areas of the service. Of course for the
congregation, corruption and bribery is part of their life and is
normal. They don’t know in other cultures this is not acceptable or
normal. Here if you didn’t pay the bribe then you didn’t get your
“free” medical treatment, police help or education. It was a way
of life, a mind-set. It is changing. And the government is clamping
down. And in fact this situation was one of the reasons that
highlighted the need to do so.
Monday morning Dorina posted on
Facebook. She wrote [I have translated it] “we are enroute to . . .
I thank God for giving me a beautiful time to enjoy with my
friends.” just before this she had met with the university students
and they were divided between two buses. She got on the second bus
and had just sat down when a teacher asked her to move into the first
bus. She was moved into the first bus and sat down at the window seat
next to her best friend. Once the buses had started rolling out of
town, she posted that Facebook comment. Completely content and
excited, choosing to enjoy this time and her friends. It is a
breathtakingly beautiful drive and region. Gorgeous turquoise seas
and mountains. The coastline is lined with cliffs. The views are
spectacular, almost beyond description.
I actually had to stop writing this
chapter at this point. I opened up Dorina’s Facebook page to find
the quote she wrote, her last words she ever wrote. And going through
that page, seeing my post, other peoples’ posts, simply broke me. I
just sat and wept uncontrollably for hours. So now, a few days later
I pick up this story again. I almost feel like I have told you the
ending, by revealing that she died, but I still want to walk you
through the situation
Monday morning Dorina posted those
words, got moved off her bus, onto the first bus and sat next to the
window seat. She loved sitting by the window when we went on trips,
and just staring out the window at the gorgeous country side. Never
missing out on anything during trips, taking it all in. The rest of
us back in the city got on with our day.
I remember sitting in one of our
regular coffee shops. It was close to the house, where we were
living. It had black and white photos of celebrities. We would often
try sit on the couch by the pictures of Johnny Depp and Brad Pit. But
this day we were further back in the restaurant, just below one of
the two big flat screen TVs, that were constantly on. I was there
with my flatmate. You know often people will say to you, “Where
were you when...” and mention a tragic event that shapes you
forever. For the rest of your life you will remember where you were
and what you were doing. This was one of those moments for us. I
remember one of Dorina's friends and flatmates calling me, sounding
upset, asking me if I had heard from Dorina or the other girl on the
bus. She told me that neither were answering their phones. The
conversation seemed surreal. She was rambling, emotionally, in the
local language. I said I would try call Dorina or her sister and call
her back. Dorina’s phone just rang. At the same time the waiters
changed the channel to the news. Usually it was music videos. We
asked the guys why they changed the channel and they told us there
had been a bus accident. That it involved students from the city we
were in. We looked at the screen and we knew it was the students’
excursion Dorina and her friend were on. We now understood why her
flatmate was so desperate that she couldn’t get through on Dorina’s
phone.
Shaken and not quite knowing what to
do, we started phoning the pastors wife, or anyone else who might
know anything. At the same time, we were hastily trying to pay for
our coffees. The waiters clearly understood we knew girls on the bus,
and were very sympathetic trying to engage us in conversation. But we
didn’t want to stop and talk about that, we wanted to rush out the
door and . . . . And… what? What do you do in this situation? What
can you do? You feel lost. But you know you have to move. You don’t
know where you are moving to, or what you are doing. But you have to
do something. You also you know life just changed in that moment.
We decided to go to an apartment where
our other youth girls were gathered and try get through on the
phones. Also we just wanted to be with our girls. We would pray and
wait. And wait. And wait. The girls were so upset that a neighbour
had taken them in, and was trying to comfort them and assure them it
would all be OK. We did the same. We prayed fervently and we assured
each other. It would be OK. Our eyes were fixed on the news, watching
rescue workers trying to get down to the bus that had gone off a
100meter cliff. The ocean in the background. Images from the
distance of the bus crumpled and crushed. It was heart wrenching.
Slowly but surely some figures start to emerge. 5 confirmed dead,
others injured. The most seriously injured were being airlifted to
the military hospital in the capital city. The less seriously injured
were being driven an hour to nearest big town and the hospital there.
The bodies would be taken to this same city.
We heard that Campus Crusade, from the
city where they were taking the not so seriously injured, had a team
there. They were consoling the students, helping identify the
students and relaying information back to those in our city who
needed to know. As best they could. The first hours were chaotic. If
I remember correctly it was 3:30 in the afternoon when I first saw
the news. Sitting in the apartment, the numbers of dead were
increasing but no names. Each time the number changed our girls
wailed and we comforted and insisted it was fine. That Dorina and her
friend were fine.
We received a phone call to say that
they would release the names of the dead, now that they were
confirmed, at the university. The main university campus was a block
up the road, so we decided to rush up there. Our girls were wailing.
We got to the university, not at all expecting what we found. It was
like the entire student body of the entire city’s university, all
campuses, had arrived to mourn. The steps of the university where
smothered in flowers and letters and candles. Students crying,
lighting candles. Muttering prayers. Groups of students huddled
everywhere, some crying, most just in silent disbelief. [see video]
And of course the press had to be
there. A lady was walking around with a clipboard finding out if any
of the students were relatives of those on the bus. As soon as one
of my youth girls acknowledged she was a cousin, the lady wrote down
her name. Within seconds we had the cameras and microphones in our
faces trying to interview her. She burst into tears, as did one of
the others girls and my flatmate and I protectively wrapped ourselves
around the girls and asked the camera men to move away. We eventually
had to get quite forceful, that image,of us holding the weeping
girls, was played over and over on TV stations for weeks to come.
This meant that wherever we went, people recognised us and wanted to
offer condolences. You couldn’t go buy groceries or have a cup of
coffee without either seeing it replayed on the news or being asked
about it. It was overwhelming. We soon realised that they weren’t
releasing the names of the girls, that it was misinformation designed
to draw a crowd for the cameras. By now we had also met up with the
pastor’s wife and she decided it was best if we go back to their
house and wait together.
Trying to walk to their house was
difficult. One of my girls kept physically collapsing, in hysterics.
We would have to stop and comfort and calm and try get walking again.
Usually each time this happened a friendly stranger would come
running with water, offering for us to wait in their house. Offering
support. I think we eventually took a taxi to the house, but I can’t
remember. It was all becoming a bit of a blur. I was just staying
strong, trying to comfort and hoping it would all be OK. I remember
we just sat for hours in the pastor’s house, again watching the TV.
By now the images were closer to the bus. We could see items, bags,
etc. strewn across the country side. It all seems a bit surreal until
you see your friend’s suitcase lying smashed in the grass with a
pile of other suitcases and remnants of snacks and drinks and
cellphones. It’s like being physically punched in the stomach. I
don’t think the pastor sat down. He was pacing, constantly on the
phone trying to find out information. We were seeing images of the
patients being airlifted. It was so traumatic. Nothing was censored
but still we had no information on either of our girls.
And then the phone call came. Someone
from Campus Crusade has located Dorina. She was injured and they had
someone sitting next to her bed comforting her, though she was in and
out of consciousness. I remember overhearing the conversation and my
stomach lurched. Something in me knew that I knew, it wasn’t
Dorina. In fact I knew it was her friend, and that in her delusion
her friend was calling Dorina’s name. But I tried hard to ignore
that inner voice. I really tried my hardest to ignore it but in that
moment I knew it was over. I couldn’t bring myself to say this, so
I just kept quiet. But in the deepest part of me God had already
told me the truth.
I remember messages being posted on
Facebook, alerting everyone Dorina had been found and was fine. I
remember the pastor phoning Dorina’s dad. He had made it from his
city in the north to the capital city. Along with her cousin. Upon
hearing that Dorina was in the other hospital, they started the many
hour drive south to go and be with her.
Dorina’s dad had just arrived at the
military hospital when he got the call. The hospital where the most
serious had been airlifted too. He and his nephew left there, driving
hours south to the other city, the other hospital, to his daughter. I
wish I had spoken up then. Wish I had voiced what my inner being
knew, that it wasn’t Dorina. But I was so caught up in the shock
and emotion and chaos and fear, I didn’t.
Hour upon hour we sat in that lounge.
The girls constantly sobbing. Our concern now was Dorina's friend,
wondering if she had survived and if she was OK. My greatest concern
was that Dorina’s friend was not Christian yet. She had not made
that final decision despite being part of our group for a while. I
might have already said this. I have written this chapter in stages
because truthfully it is so painful at times, I just stop and cry and
leave it for a few days and come back to it.
But a part of me wished, if one of the
two girls had to die, that it would be Dorina and not her friend
because at least Dorina knew Jesus. It was a terrible thing to feel
or even think but it is honestly a thought that crossed my mind. So
we sat, crying in the lounge, comforting each other. Staring at the
TV screen as name upon name of confirmed dead victims appeared.
Watching images of bloody bodies on stretchers being taken to the
military hospital. Seeing images of the crushed bus. Hearing the
girls gasp and cry, “that is Dorina’s suitcase” or “that was
this girls sunglasses” etc. as the recognised bits and pieces of
the carnage. Constantly cellphones were ringing, people in tears,
desperate to know what had happened and if we had any news. And
constantly you were reliving the moment and replaying it.
I remember hours later, shortly before
Dorina's dad reached the city, he received a call. The girl in the
hospital was not Dorina, it was her friend. And that indeed her
friend was calling out for Dorina, which had caused the confusion.
They were very close to the city. And were told that there were still
4 unidentified bodies in the morgue, and 2 victims in operating
theaters in the military hospital. And all the other victims had been
accounted for. Some of the numbers were hard to tell because people
had snuck friends and relatives onto the bus, to join them for the
excursion, so their names were not on the official register.
Even though I had known it in my gut.
Hearing that phone call shattered me. It shattered the last bit of
hope in the room, yet there was also relief that at least her unsaved
friend was indeed alive. And was in the hospital with those who were
not as critically injured, so had a good chance of surviving. But my
heart broke for the father. Having been misinformed. Desperately
trying to find his little girl. I can’t imagine the feelings he
must have felt. He decided to proceed to the hospital, to confirm it
wasn’t his daughter. If it truly wasn’t, he would go to the
morgue and look at the bodies because the morgue was in that city.
And if not then he would drive all the way back to the capital city
to try see if he could see the girls in the operating theater.
It wasn’t long before we received the
call, he had been into the ward and it wasn’t his daughter, it was
her friend. We were both elated and shattered at the same time. I
can’t imagine what he must have felt, there must have been some
hope in him that wished it was his daughter, and some disappointment
when it wasn’t combined with being grateful his daughters best
friend was alive. Next he went to the morgue.
I don’t know how the scene played
out, I have never been to a morgue nor have I been to a morgue in
that nation. But in my mind I see the white sheet over the body
being pulled back to be identified. Thanks to TV, it’s the way it
plays out in my brain. But however it played out. He looked at all 4
bodies and none were his daughter. I can imagine the relief he must
have felt, knowing that meant she was one of the two on an operating
table in the military hospital. It meant there was a chance, she was
alive. But also the frustration knowing he had been right there, and
possibly missed her by minutes and had wasted all this time on a wild
goose chase. And so we received the call, our eyes still glued to the
TV, the pastor’s phone still glued to his ear. And we exhaled,
holding onto hope, though that still small voice deep within me knew
it was false hope.
The number of the dead kept rising and
the list of confirmed victims kept getting added to. We finally saw
Dorina's friend's name appear on the list of victims alive in
hospital. This brought a fresh wave of pain. Before they had been
listing Dorina’s name as alive and had now admitted the mistake and
changed it to her friend’s name. Now Dorina's name didn’t appear
on either the list of survivors or casualties. Most of the time we
sat in silence, but each phone call brought a fresh wave of tears as
we relived details. Each image pierced our hearts and was burned into
our memories. And then close on midnight, not sure if it was just
before or just after, hours and minutes had blurred together that
day. I think it was after midnight. The pastor received a phone call.
Sometimes you don’t need to hear the other side of a conversation.
The person receiving it, his face can tell you all that you need to
know. The wide eyes brimming with tears, paleness in the face and
despair etched into his brow, jaw slack in shock. Dorina's dad had
just found out that she was indeed one of the two unidentified ones
on the operating table, and she had died during surgery.
Her dad hadn’t reached the hospital
in time. We were devastated sitting for so long, steeped in tragedy,
holding on to hope and it was finally over. But I tell you, we
couldn’t accept it. Denial covered us like a blanket and we didn’t
move, wouldn’t move. It wasn’t until around 2 am when they
finally added her name, officially, to the list of dead on the news
channel that we accepted it as truth and started informing people and
posting on Facebook. It was over. It was crushing and heart breaking
and it was over. She was really gone.
My flatmate and I lived close to the
pastor's house and so we decided to stagger home, shattered and
exhausted. Leaving the other girls to stay with the pastor's family.
I somehow slept, possibly from exhaustion for 3 hours. Then I woke
up, my flatmate wasn’t awake, I couldn’t be alone, I was so
overwhelmed. So I went and banged on the door upstairs and woke up
the missionary living there. I remember I just walked in and sat on
the couch crying nonstop. There were no words. And I just couldn’t
be alone. She was so gracious, and made sure I had a cup of tea and
some breakfast in me. It was going to be a long day. I don’t know
how I managed to eat or drink, but mechanically I did. And I am
grateful that she made me. I was still completely in shock.
Somehow after that I went downstairs,
my flatmate was awake, and we changed and walked to the bus station.
The heaviness was like a cloak weighing down on us. We immediately
spotted our church group, not because they were people we knew but
all shoulders were weighed down, heads lowered in depression, eyes
red rimmed and puffy and all in black, gathered like a puddle on the
pavement. We joined the group, we all greeted and hugged but there
after no one spoke, all enveloped in grief. Most were in my youth
group and I remember thinking, I need to be strong for them. The
girls still cried nonstop. Finally our mini bus arrived to take us to
city the girl came from, for her funeral. To her family’s house
where the funeral would begin.
We had a bus driver from hell.
Honestly. And he took the mountain passes at high speed and often on
the wrong side of the road. Our emotions were frayed and tempers were
short. I kept thinking, we are on our way to the funeral of someone
who died in a bus accident and our driver is driving like he wants to
kills us enroute, it was terrible. The pastor and elder had to talk
to him on numerous occasions about his driving. This only added to
the tension and emotion we were all feeling. I sat still, stayed
strong. And then another phone call came. The pastor whispered
something to the driver and we pulled off into a coffee shop. The
pastor addressed us, they had sent the wrong body to the funeral. We
needed to wait a while till Dorina’s body arrived at the house
before continuing.
I still shake my head in disbelief.
Tragedy upon tragedy upon tragedy. When would it stop? A little place
in my heart, [and I know my flatmate said the same thing]. When we
heard it wasn’t her body at the funeral, we had a glimmer of hope,
maybe it was all a big mix up and she really was alive. But as I
stepped off the bus to wait, I knew she wasn’t, and I broke. I
remember heaving from the tears, and I walked away from the group. I
can’t remember who I phoned or whatsapped or something. But I got
hold of someone. Took a few deep breaths and pulled it together to go
be strong again for the youth. Most didn’t want to eat or drink
coffee but we did. Finally we received the next call and off we went
towards the funeral.
When we arrived I couldn’t believe
how many people were there. Hundreds had arrived. And were taking up
the entire empty ground outside the apartment block, there was a long
line from the door towards the mourning room. Because of the amount
of people we were to not stay in the mourning room, we were to offer
our condolences and touch the body and leave. Slowly but surely the
line moved, but it seemed at snail’s pace. Wailing and weeping were
all around. Each step made my stomach lurch, I didn’t want to see
her in that coffin, didn’t think I could handle it. Didn’t want
the finality of it. I remember stepping into the room barely being
able to breathe. Partly from all the bodies pushed against each
other, partly from the grief. Even upon entering the room, I couldn’t
see the coffin due to the crowd. But I could see the faces of each of
my friends once they had seen Dorina, and it broke my heart. Tears
overflowing, and a horrid pallor clinging to their cheeks.
Eventually I was at the centre of the
room, the coffin before me. I remember the very first thing I noticed
was her mouth. My hand flew to my own mouth in shock. Her lips were
cut and bloodied and her teeth broken. My first thought, and its
haunted me often was, “they broke her smile, dear God they broke
her smile.” and I started to sob. They had washed and tried to
clean her body as best they could. But there is only so much you can
do, you can’t hide the fact that she is the casualty of a bus
accident. But still it broke my heart that her smile was broken. As
one known for her laughter and smile, this devastated me. I remember
trying to regain sanity, regain composure. I had felt God say to me,
going in to this day that I needed to focus on what was truth. Not on
what I saw or heard. I was reminded of the scripture in Philippians
that says whatever is good, whatever is true etc. think on these
things. So I started repeating to myself in my head, it’s just her
body, she isn’t here, and she is in heaven in a new body. Her smile
isn’t really broken. She isn’t here. She has a new body. She has
a new body.
My brain went into automatic repeat but
my heart carried the wound of seeing her broken smile. I obviously
stood there too long, shocked, because a lady next to the mother,
grabbed me and pulled me towards the mother to comfort the mother.
And then took my hand and drew it towards Dorina’s face, to touch
the corpse. I tried so hard to pull my hand away but she wouldn’t
let me. She made me touch her. I touched her hair not her face. And
I remember thinking how unnaturally soft it felt. I had often
braided Dorina’s hair or done hairstyles for her, and it had never
ever felt as soft as it did that day. It was surreal. It made the
whole experience feel fake. Like it could have been a mannequin in
the coffin. It was at the point of touching the hair I noticed the
hole in her right side of her temple the size of a child's fist, and
I knew then how she had died. My flatmate later confirmed seeing the
same wound.
After touching the body I was quickly
ushered along, so that the next person can come and offer their
condolences, and I joined the line exiting, of pallor faces, crying
eyes, stunned. My brain fighting to not think of her broken smile, to
constantly remember her new body in heaven but at the same time my
mind couldn’t shake the visual image of those bloodied bruised lips
and shattered teeth.
Outside we huddled together, in clumps.
All devastated. I eventually went back inside, but into the first
room and sat with Dorina's sister who was a close friend, and someone
who had been in our youth group before. A group of us gathered in
there for a while. Just comforting her and each other. And then we
re-joined the masses outside. I spoke with many students that day
that I hadn’t met before. All friends of Dorina’s. And they all
said the same thing about her. She loved people with all her heart
and she loved God. If she wasn’t singing and laughing, she was
talking about God or singing about him. I used that day, that
opportunity to share with those students how her love for God and
knowing God opened a way to heaven for her, to gently drop seeds of
the gospel. Even in the midst of grieving I knew I had to make the
most of that opportunity for those students to hear truth. Between
sharing the gospel and sometimes physically holding up the youth
girls or comforting the guys, it seemed like the day would never end.
And it wasn’t even half way through the day yet.
Then came the moment to take the coffin
to the graveside. Usually only the men go to the grave. They carried
the coffin outside. And a wave of wailing began to surge through the
crowd. There was such trauma and emotion that day that they actually
had professional nurses there administering help to those fainting.
It was that intense. And a fresh wave of intensity broke over us.
They pushed all of Dorina's friends to the coffin and made us circle
it and beg her not to leave us. I can’t tell you the sound that
arose as one by one they cried for her to stay to not leave us
behind. They were touching her head and touching the foot of the
coffin and begging and pleading. It was the most haunting, disturbing
cry I have ever heard, in reality. One of my youth girls was in
front of me. She was a mature Christian. In fact she was the first
Christian young adult that I had met who had been raised by Christian
parents, in this nation. She physically collapsed in her grief. I
remember catching her and carrying her, and the whole time whispering
in her ear, “she isn’t here, she's already in heaven. You know
this, you know it’s true. She is alive. She isn’t here.”
speaking truth over and over, while I carried her to a place where
she could sit down.
I remember a decision had been made to
break tradition and all present would go to the graveside for the
burial. We arrived there. I think usually it’s the men and the
immediate family of the person. But at this grave side, we were all
slipping and sliding on the bank, all trying to gather around where
she would be buried, next to a steep slope. Her parents were of
Muslim origin. She and her sister had become Christian. At the
graveside they had the Muslim imam doing the prayers and the songs. I
don’t remember much of this part of the ceremony. Truthfully. By
then I was functioning on automatic. And I was more worried about my
youth than watching the Muslim rituals. I moved in and around the
crowd, holding my youth girls. Giving side hugs to the guys. Checking
they were all OK. I remember one of my youth boys just putting his
arms around me, and not wanting to let go, as we stared at the sealed
coffin together. I remember another was at the top of the slope,
having removed himself from the crowd and just stood there, alone,
tears streaming down his face, refusing to let anyone comfort him.
Finally they lowered the coffin and as is tradition, each person
standing there should take the shovel and throw a spade full of sand
on the coffin. We waited back allowing family to do this first, and
then they moved on. Person after person after person, until it was
our church and the Christians behind.
I remember so clearly one of the youth
boys knelt down on the ground one hand to his mouth, and one hand
clutching the soil that was to be thrown over the body, and I could
just sense his grief as he knelt there, appearing to be praying. It
is another image that is frozen in my mind forever. I remember when I
threw that sand on the coffin, it was like a door slammed shut. The
full weight of the reality of it hit me in that moment. It wasn’t a
mistake or confusion, it wasn’t a mannequin in a coffin, and it was
over. Dorina was dead. I blew her a kiss and told her I loved her.
And my heart sank like a stone.
The Christians stayed behind and had
their own service together, led by her cousin. I can’t remember if
we first went and paid respects to the parents and family who lined
the exit of the graveyard and then went and had the service, or if we
had the service and then paid respects. Honestly fatigue, shock and
exhaustion have blurred that sequence in my brain. But I know those
two things happened. I know that we, as a church, also decided not
to stay behind for the meal. But to return to our city. Which was a
good thing, seeing as how many hundreds of people had arrived for the
funeral.
There are things I look back on now.
That I can see the hand of God in it. Weeks before this happened I
was away at a woman’s camp, things had been tough in my church
situation, and only got tougher. So it was nice to be away on a
woman's retreat and get some ministry. And rest. And someone else
paid for it. So it was even better. Often I didn’t go to
conferences because of lack of funds... it was an American team doing
the retreat so it was even in English with translation into the local
language. And it was set up in the mountains, so we were surrounded
by beauty. Whilst up there, God dropped a scripture into my heart.
He showed me something from psalm 63:8 [NLT] “I cling to you; your
strong right hand holds me securely.” I remember when I read this I
questioned God why he was showing me this. There wasn’t any reason
in that moment that the scripture would apply to. But I felt God tell
me to get this deep in my heart and my spirit, almost a warning of a
storm to come. And the storm came. I returned from the camp, and
there was an immediate attack against me being a single woman
missionary and my identity. There were accusations that raged. Then
the bus accident happened, another crisis that I can’t share
happened, and then I was whisked off to another city to translate for
a foreign psychologist who was helping a local flee from an abusive
husband who was a foreign pastor, my pastor's wife's dad had his leg
caught in farm equipment and was critical and and and... It was like
one crisis after another kept happening. In fact my one friend told
me to stop answering my phone because each time it was another crisis
and they couldn’t believe so much could all go wrong at once.
On top of all that was going wrong,
things were going right. A vision that had been birthed in my life
15 years before was suddenly coming to fulfilment and it caught me by
surprise. As well as the fact that I was about to go to South Africa
for a visit, for the first time in 4 years and all the emotions and
preparation that was going into that. It was an overwhelming season
where I scarcely had time to breath.
Thank God for his word in preparation
and thank God shortly after all the storms hit, was when my holiday
to South Africa happened. Otherwise I don’t think I would have
fully survived it.
Back to the bus story. So I had the
scripture firmly in my heart to cling to God, and let him sustain me.
And I had heard God tell me to cling to what I knew was true. And
this was my anchor in these times. It was a chaotic time. There was
no escaping this tragedy. It was all on the news and every
coffee-shop TV played the same scenes over and over. We were
constantly meeting with and comforting people. Everywhere we walked
or went to, people were talking about it, and would recognise our
faces from news footage and want to hear our story. It was like our
shadow, no matter what you did or where you went it was always there.
I remember going with the leaders from
campus crusade to see the memorial at the university. Large photos of
each girl where displayed. I stood with one of the leaders and she
pointed out each girl and said, “according to our knowledge –
this one heard the gospel but declined, this one never heard the
gospel. “And down the line she went. Only Dorina was Christian out
of the ones who died and less than half the others, to the knowledge
of campus crusade, through their ministry had heard the gospel. How
tragic. This is far more tragic that the actual bus accident.
Dorina, because of all the added trauma
and confusion became the focal point of the whole incident. Her
Facebook status was posted on the news, thanking God for the
provision to go. In her notes she had written, “If you ever have
doubts or questions or confusion. If you ever need the answers, look
to the bible and you will find them.” this too was shown on all the
TV channels as they looked into her life. And everyone interviewed
about her would say she loved God and she loved people. So yes, God
used this extreme tragedy and the confusion in it, to reach a nation
with his word. He did. But by him doing that, it still doesn’t
remove the pain of the wound.
I think too often we, as Christians,
hide in the truth. I did it. I came back and got asked to share in my
church and I used Dorina's story and spoke with authority about God
using it for the good and to reach the nation. And I fully fully
fully believe that is true. But in doing that I used it to mask my
hurt of the situation and never dealt with the wound. I am so
grateful God did use it, I am so grateful God gave me truth to stand
on during it. But I am also aware that I never gave God opportunity
to be God in my life, fully in the situation. I allowed him to be God
in the situation and in other people's lives in the situation but not
in my life, not fully. Because I never allowed myself to mourn or be
comforted. And then I hit the ground running again when I returned
from my time in South Africa to being back on the mission field.
I remember going to campus crusade
meetings and helping pray with and counsel students who were
grieving. I remember organising a special meeting for my youth group.
We called in a translator where we bared our souls, so it was easier
to do it in English. We exposed some deep tragedies from our own
lives. And how God had healed us and brought good about from it, we
used our own stories to build hope and courage and comfort. And we
used scripture. We focused a lot on psalm 23 and how God is with us
in the valley of the shadow of death. We sowed our efforts into
keeping their faith strong and making sure they were comforted and
whole. But despite all of this, I never allowed God to comfort me, I
never allowed myself to mourn.
Dorina's friend got transferred to the
military hospital. Her injuries were worse than first known. She had
severe brain trauma to the part of her brain that controls her
emotions and also her shoulder needed surgery. They didn’t have the
correct size screws, so used what they had. When I met her months
later you could see and feel the screws pushing against her skin from
inside her body, she was in constant pain and was waiting to get a
visa to go to another European county for more surgery.
She was definitely not the same person
as before the crash. You could tell that her brain had been effected.
Whether this is temporary or permanent I do not know. She struggled
to concentrate or hold and follow conversations. The only topic she
wanted to talk about was the crash. And she carried a memorial book
around with her where ever she went. All about Dorina. Because of
her injuries she only found out 3 months after the crash that Dorina
had died. Only once she was released from hospital and saw it on
Facebook. The doctors and her parents wouldn’t allow visitors to
tell her the truth if they came to see her in the hospital. For this
reason I declined seeing her in hospital. Not just because I was busy
running around from crisis to crisis but because I couldn’t lie to
the girl.
I often, in my mind, questioned, how
these two girls who were sitting right next to each other ended the
way they did. How did one die and one survive? It made no sense.
There are days now I wish I hadn’t even thought that question.
Dorina's friend shared with us her memory of the crash. How she had
fallen asleep on Dorina's shoulder. Dorina was seated next to the
window watching the world go by. Dorina hated to miss out on
anything. She says she remembers Dorina waking her up and saying,
“We are in the air.” she remembers looking out the window and
only seeing the sea and the horizon. Dorina encouraged her to get
down, and she squeezed herself on the floor between the seats. She
begged Dorina to sit down with her, but Dorina remained standing.
Saying she needed to see what was happening. She said the last thing
she heard or remembers before it all went black was Dorina screaming
in terror. She says she can’t get that sound out her head. Having
heard that account, I can tell you I can’t get that out of my head
either.
It started a wrestle in my soul. A
wrestle between God and me. My emotions and truth. If God was with
her in the valley of the shadow of death how does that tie in with
her screaming her way to her death, I terror? There are no real
answers and sadly death usually isn’t easy or pain free. Diseases,
accidents and traumas are as much a part of a Christian’s life as a
non-Christians life. We all wish for the martyr stories where it’s
made to seem like they felt no pain. But not every Christian death is
like this. Talking this through with a pastor and my psychologist has
helped me make peace with that.
The reality is this, whether the bus
accident happened then or later Dorina's response would have been the
same due to her character. The reality is also this, it did happen.
That can’t be changed. Reality is still true, she is now in heaven.
And is happier than she has ever been before, has a new body and is
in the presence of Jesus and no matter how traumatic her death, in
that instance when she passed from death into eternal life and saw
Jesus, all of that would have faded into oblivion. The reality is,
medically, that even though she didn’t die immediately, where the
injury in her head was, meant she was unconscious and unaware the
moment her head struck whatever it struck. I often wrestled with the
fact that she died alone, when family were so close. I realise now
she wouldn’t have been aware of being alone, because she wouldn’t
have been conscious. My pastor has recommended I find a really nice
picture of Dorina, and constantly look at that to get rid of the
image of her in her coffin in my mind.
Writing about it, talking about it and
finally letting myself feel the emotions, and mourn, are truly
helping me heal. The wound is not completely healed but God will
remain faithful to comfort and bind up the broken-hearted. Keeping my
mind, as scripture says, on what is true, also helps a lot.
Questioning and voicing my emotions,
concerns and doubts. Even about God and His word has been the most
helpful thing. God isn’t afraid of my questions. And it doesn’t
change truth, nor does it change the situation but it helps you find
peace and make peace with Him again. He didn’t leave her nor
forsake her, as much as he doesn’t leave nor forsake us in our
difficult moments. Appearances don’t negate truth. But I needed to
wrestle out those questions.
And some things are still difficult,
and some well-meaning Christians and their responses still make me
want to bite their heads off. I remember two weeks after the incident
meeting missionaries who had flown in specifically to pray with the
victims recovering in hospital. Upon hearing the story of Dorina, the
first response I was given was, “why didn’t you just lay hands on
her and raise her from the dead.” I can’t tell you the bitter
seed of anger that embedded in me that day. Swimming in my trauma,
scarcely able to breath and focusing on making sure everyone else was
alright, I can tell you that the last thought that crossed my mind
would have been to raise the dead. Not that I have the faith to do
that either. Well not back then I didn’t, and currently I don’t,
who knows what lies ahead in the future.
Another well-meaning Christian told me,
“shame it was probably a result of generational curses.” as if
that justifies that a young girl died in a tragic bus accident. Are
you kidding me? How does that justify it? Or make it right? Or become
a reason for it to have happened? And trust me I have seen plenty of
Christians who have broken all generational curses and still walk
through tragedy and trauma. It’s too easy for us to offer glib
answers in the face of tragedy. That's like saying if she didnt pay
the bribe she would be alive. We cant guarantee that, and that is
discredited by the ones who lived.
Healing is a process, and can only
happen when we make room for the Healer to come and comfort and hold
and heal. There will always be difficult moments, like watching a
popular car show drive a car of a cliff in the same region, that will
bring back the memories. But eventually the wound will heal but I
doubt the memory will ever fade, even though its sting will be
removed.
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