Singing Through Pain

She was in pre-med, her family had refugee status from a country in Africa. She was so excited that night in the living room with her friends that Obama was going to win. Then she collapsed, she bled out, and she died. No reason. No clue, no previous medical history.

Her family traveled most of the night from another state to see her. They cried out in anguish over this beautiful girl, their daughter, their sister, who looked as though she slept, her dark skin showing none of the patterns of death, none of the pallor. They huddled together, crying out in their native tongue over this horrible loss and I left the room to give them their time.

I sat in the hall, listening to a language I did not understand but knowing exactly what they said. And then, suddenly, there was singing, a beautiful song that wound from one voice to the next, each member having a verse, then singing together again. They sang and they sang, giving voice to their pain in the most beautiful way I have ever heard, in a dialect only they could understand. I could only imagine that they sang their daughter and sister's spirit back to their homeland, to their ancestors, to a place of peace.

I am so humbled to have been there to witness this, so privileged to have heard this family sing through their pain.