From the blog post of April 12th, Easter Sunday.
Day 40. Forty days and forty nights. Wasn't Jesus tested for forty days and nights before Gethsemane? The central line tubing in my jugular was placed successfully but the three access tubes connected to the main catheter weigh heavy on my neck. The last four days have been so unbearable that I too feel I have been abandoned and forsaken by the One I trusted to watch over me and ease my suffering.
I read something interesting today about the holy city of Jerusalem. As you know, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is the ultimate destination for any Jerusalem pilgrimage, and six Christian denominations consider themselves its custodians - the Roman Catholics, the Greek Orthodox, Armenian apostolics, the Coptics, Ethiopians and the Syriacs. But did you also know that for a thousand years, since the time of Saladdin, the main entrance to the Church has been entrusted to two Muslim families, the Joudeh, who have the key, and the Nusseibeh, who have been custodians since the days of Caliph Omar in 637. A Joudeh family member is still on hand twice a day to bring the key to the door which is locked and unlocked by a Nusseibeh.
Day 40. Forty days and forty nights. Wasn't Jesus tested for forty days and nights before Gethsemane? The central line tubing in my jugular was placed successfully but the three access tubes connected to the main catheter weigh heavy on my neck. The last four days have been so unbearable that I too feel I have been abandoned and forsaken by the One I trusted to watch over me and ease my suffering.
I have been remembering my Easter of a year ago. It was a special time, unforgettable. Many of the days and nights of my 84 days in hospital are remembered now only through my blog, through moments of lucid poetry. But the Easter weekend is clear. I had a new consultant, a temporary Easter consultant. And he was extraordinarily kind to me. He arrived at the hospital every day, on his bike, to see me. He would stride quickly into the room, greet my father respectfully, draw up a chair, and smile. "Now Shaista, what are you up to today?!!"
And I would release pent up passion and vociferous semi-medical jargon, making completely unreasonable demands such as, "Are you with me or against me?" and reasonable demands such as, "I need a blood transfusion now!"
We mark our lives by different anniversaries. Easter is one of mine. I am here. Alive. How could it be otherwise on a day of resurrection? How do you give thanks for the miracle of life?
I read something interesting today about the holy city of Jerusalem. As you know, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is the ultimate destination for any Jerusalem pilgrimage, and six Christian denominations consider themselves its custodians - the Roman Catholics, the Greek Orthodox, Armenian apostolics, the Coptics, Ethiopians and the Syriacs. But did you also know that for a thousand years, since the time of Saladdin, the main entrance to the Church has been entrusted to two Muslim families, the Joudeh, who have the key, and the Nusseibeh, who have been custodians since the days of Caliph Omar in 637. A Joudeh family member is still on hand twice a day to bring the key to the door which is locked and unlocked by a Nusseibeh.
This beautiful merging of unexpected histories, the unimaginable kindnesses of being human, the resurrection of hope, this is Easter for me.
