Mercy Kennedy, 9, cries Thursday Oct. 2, 2014. as community activists approach her outside her home on 72nd SKD Boulevard in Monrovia, Liberia, a day after her mother was taken away by an ambulance to an Ebola ward. Neighbors wailed Thursday upon learning that Mercy’s mother had died; she was among the cluster of cases that includes Thomas Eric Duncan, a Liberian man now hospitalized in Texas. On Thursday, little Mercy walked around in a daze in a torn nightgown and flip-flops, pulling up the fabric to wipe her tears as a group of workers from the neighborhood task force followed the sound of wailing through the thick grove of banana trees and corn plants. News and Observer
Ever since I opened my newspaper and let this picture sink into my heart and soul, it will not leave me. The article reported that Mercy is now on her own as people treat her as outcast since she loved and lived with someone with the dreaded ebola. This haunts me and makes me feel sick inside. A nine year old girl left all alone and shunned as she grieves the loss of her mother. This could be me. This could be my daughter.
As I recently listened to an administrator from the now infamous Dallas hospital that continues to deal with the spread of ebola, I became angry. Understanding that his goal was to reassure and attempt to calm the people of Dallas and the US, nonetheless his words were arrogant and hollow. He said something to the effect, “We are not West Africa. This disease will not spread in our country.” He has already been proven wrong.
What makes us as Americans believe that we are immune from participating in the pain and suffering of being human? Has our wealth and power so blinded and soothed so many of us that we truly believe that we can punch a ticket and get a pass on such pain. This virus, and so many other painful things, are no respecter of nationality, income level or person. There exists no inoculation from pain and suffering We are connected and in this together. Believing the delusion that we are not in this game is dangerous and has a high cost.
I have no answers. I lift this precious Mercy and all others like her up to God and beg that someone show her true mercy. Thinking about this situation and the what ifs for my own family is excruciating – my mind jumps to a time that I read The Road by Cormac McCarthy. It is unfathomable to think about choices we could be forced to make that involve the hearts and souls of our children. What will I do if this disease knocks on our family’s door? Or that of my neighbor? It already has – Mercy is my neighbor.
*If any of my readers know anyone or any organization that is doing good work in the stopping and treating of ebola in West Africa, please share.
