Kevin
Kevin is a Canadian. At six weeks of age, he captures the attention and the hearts of those around him, especially his parents and his “auntie” – me. Kevin’s parents are from Homs, Syria, and he is separated by half a world and terrible war from his grandparents, aunts and uncles. With the exceptions of a few cousins and a great aunt, who live within an hour’s distance, he will know his Syrian family only through the screen of a cell phone or a computer.
I first met Hossam and Ebtessam last year when our parish refugee committee was looking for someone to help Ebtesssam with improving her English. She could understand a lot, and spoke clearly, but with a little hesitance. We worked together on reading and writing, but that was interrupted with her new job, and a new pregnancy. Her English skills improved, despite my efforts, and our relationship became more of friendship and learning about motherhood. I kept trying to find resources and classes for her in her native Arabic, but mostly, she was able to find online lessons for childbirth preparation. We talked about names, and customs, and her experience with taking care of babies. And we laughed a lot. And she cooked for me and made me their strong Syrian coffee. She liked that Kevin meant “kind, gentle and handsome.”
As her due date approached, we talked more about her faith, and her experiences growing up as a Syrian catholic. Hossam, too, wanted to know where to get a crucifix for the apartment we had helped them find and move into. They showed me the beautiful icons they had brought with their meager belongings from Syria, gifts for Confirmation.
On the day Kevin was born, Hossam, who had been looking for work for a month, got word of a great new job which was to start right after Kevin came home from the hospital. He jumped at it. I was able to help them get everyone home from the hospital, and assist with that precious time of settling in. Hossam asked if I could come to the store with him to pick up a few things for the baby’s care, which I did willingly.
Through his exhaustion, and his tears, he made the most remarkable statement. He said that all day he had been thinking about Jesus as God’s son. “I don’t know how God did it, giving his Son up to die. I already love Kevin so much, and now I can see God and Jesus in a whole new way. He has blessed us so much, even with all the hard things we had to do. Now I have a beautiful son and a wonderful wife and a great job. But I think I know how much God loves me even more, when I think about how he gave up Jesus for me.”
Ebtessam has been learning of God’s love in her careful love and attention to his care. Like many others, she has coped with recuperating from a long, difficult labour, the utter exhaustion of the first months of feedings, laundry, and comforting Kevin as his crying body adjusts to this new world. She always greets me with a smile but accepts a shoulder to cry on when she is overwhelmed with longing for her own mother. Hers is a faith lived out in the joy and the hardship of motherhood and refugee.
Our start as a family was not unlike this, having come 5000 km from any home I had known, new to Canada (but not from a radically different culture), and finding new friends. If it weren’t for the kindness and friendship of other women who took me under their wings, I am not sure how I would have survived.
So often I have tried to imagine the lives of Oblates doing their work in the far off missions of Kenya, Peru, and Haiti. I was fortunate enough to experience the richness of mission people coming to me, giving me great witness to their faith and goodness, and especially their friendship.
By Marie Luttrell – Provincial Associate
