We all know that we are here on earth just passing through. That’s the one certain thing in our life; everything else is uncertain. We can plan all we want, we can foresee all we want, but someone up there has the bigger picture, and the moment that we least expect it we will be called to His presence.We arrived at 8 am at the Missionaries of Charity compound to start our day with Mass and we were received by sister Eulalia, who told us that we were needed in the food distribution area and that we needed to start scraping cribs so that they could be painted. We couldn’t wait any longer to hear about the two babies in critical condition with whom we prayed yesterday, Leonardo and Madeline. Leonardo was called to the Father’s house, together with a little girl who had a seizure.
There was no time to mourn.
Soon enough, the gate opened and the line of people began to form. On our end, we were ready for them: the “bean girl”, the “rice duo”, the “pasta and tomato 
girls”, and the “oil girl”, waiting to fill the sacks of 220 Haitians. The pantry sacks should last each Haitian for two weeks. Two kilos of rice, one of beans, one tiny can of tomato soup, two bags of pasta, and one liter of oil. Even though I was busy, I couldn’t get the babies who reached heaven off my mind. After midday, I was sent to buy the paint for the cribs, so I jumped in the MC’s ambulance, and suddenly we stopped in front of the far gate of the compound. Sister Mary Phillipe opened the gate and came out with two tiny corpses wrapped in white cloth. Sister looked at me, and said, “You will take them to the morgue.” That’s when I lost it…
The night before, one of the missionaries made a beautiful reflection that I want to share with you:
“I knew that by coming here, I was going to see Jesus face to face. But when I was standing, praying over the two babies, I couldn’t do it. A lot of thoughts crossed my mind. What’s the purpose of a baby living for 3 months just to die? I say to Christ all the time, ‘You died for me.’ And in that moment, I realized that that baby was Christ, dying for me, so that I would understand his immense love. That baby was teaching me the lesson of my life. He fulfilled his purpose.”
I just keep repeating those words over and over again in my mind and in my heart. “Jesus, you died for me; what will I do for you.” These babies fulfilled their mission in life. What’s my mission? Have I found the meaning of my life?
We arrived at the morgue shortly. What for us would be a whole ritual, here, a man comes to the car, you hand him one body, he waits for you to pile the other body on top, and then he carries them away. Life goes on…
I had to return to the missionaries and act as if nothing had happened. They needed my smile and my encouragement as they scraped dozens of metal cribs under a blazing sun. Life goes on…
In Haiti, death is part of daily life. The Hail Mary is a living prayer: “now and at the hour of our death…”
The journey of that little boy and girl on this earth was ended. Their mission fulfilled. Christ, once again, gave me a lesson: Your life is in my hands. I have a plan for you. Go out and live it to the full.
