Sammy died Wednesday afternoon. He was in the sickroom with one of the Kenyan nurses and Sr. Julie, an American volunteer. He suffered for months, unable to move, to eat, really communicate. Because they couldn't maintain his nutritional status he lost most of his weight. Because he couldn't move he developed pressure sores on his body when his skin started breaking down. They don't have the fancy beds or cushions we have here that help with that. They tried to protect his body by ptting stuffed animals people had given the kids under the pressure points. Wasn't very comfortable and didn't work. He would cry when Mum Terry came to the sickroom, he just really wanted to be back in the cottage with the other kids.
When the other kids came home from school they were told he had died, and they came to the sickroom to say goodbye. All this brings back such painful memories for me of Ken.
This is my most favorite memory of Sammy:
One day I took him and Brian down to Karen to have "coke and chips (fries). We had a great afternoon just watching all the activity in the village and stopping at the little stores and markets. They were great company. As we headed back up the 3 big hills to Nyumbani we saw some of the older Nyumbani boys walking home from school. Like any little boys anywhere Brian and Sammy wanted to walk with the big boys. I sent them on ahead, watching them running and fooling around and just being boys. It was so fun, and I was so thankful for this glimpse of normal childhood. Suddenly Sammy came running back down the hill to me. He reached out and took my hand and held my hand all the way back to Nyumbani. Sometimes even big boys aren't enough to make you forget a friend.
