What We Do > Healthcare Programs > Back to Haiti > Virtual Visit

From the desk of
Fr. Rick Frechette
Haiti
May 13, 2003

On the death of Roselyn Piul

When I knelt and uncovered the faces of the dead this morning, as I usually do before beginning my medical rounds at Mother Theresa’s home for the destitute, I froze in the middle of the blessing as I saw gazing at me the lifeless face of Roselyn Piul. Not quite having reached her 22nd birthday, lying on this gray slab where so many hundreds have had a few moments of peace in the tropical heat before being driven to and tossed into a mass grave, I couldn’t help but remember how Roselyn came to the orphanage as a little seven-year-old girl. She liked to keep her hair in two little pig-tails that stood nearly straight up, and they always had a nice braid or beads in them. Roselyn was a nice girl, and very quiet. But her quietness would make me pull my hair out when she reached her teen years. It was so hard to get into any conversation with Roselyn, so hard even to get her to answer a question. I worked very hard at it the year I drove her and a number of other girls to a nun’s school every morning- how I bated her and teased her and pestered her to get her to talk. But she never did. Not to me.

Roselyn was known to have the HIV virus since 1991, when we started to test the children. She must have gotten it from her deceased mother. For all the 13 years Roselyn was in the orphanage she was strong and robust and never met the criterion for needing antiretroviral medicines. About two years ago, when Roselyn left the orphanage without ever having finished any school level or trade, she was charmed into a life of prostitution. It was amazing to see how fast she, who had been robust, crashed altogether when she was no longer in a community of people who cared for her, but rather was surrounded by people who used her and disdained her. She lost weight dramatically, developed tuberculosis and wound up in the home for the dying. We found her there, cured her TB and started her on AIDS medicine. I would never have bet on her survival, but to our great joy she rebounded. How proud and happy was our little medical team to see her doing well again. And she beamed with delight in her quiet way. Of course, the oft repeated talks on HIV, sexuality, and committed relationship resumed. Roselyn had heard these things from me, from us, for years. They still made no difference.

I had not seen Roselyn for a few months, since the first meeting I called with all “graduates” of the orphanage over our 15-year history in Haiti. Over 100 came to the meeting, last March, including Roselyn. I encouraged them all to be honest in the ever more corrupt and desperate economical situation of Haiti. I encouraged them to stay close to God and not to lose the richness and strength of a spiritual life. And I invited them to write to me a dream they wanted to fulfill, and I would try to find the funds to help them achieve their dream.

Roselyn never wrote her dream. The ever-silent Roselyn. Nor did Rosleyn ever come for her AIDS medicines again, once she was strong.

As we prayed over her body and looked at her sadly, we wondered what she died of. Her face was strong and full. She didn’t die of AIDS. But she did die BECAUSE of AIDS. It wasn’t long at all before we learned that she had been into prostitution again, and that gang members who called on her frequently, learning recently that she had AIDS, beat her and left her to die. And now here she was on this silent slab.

I wanted to run, but I didn’t know to where. The sisters offered to bury her and save her from the mass grave, and I was happy for the offer so I could start to distance myself from this ending, which was tragic beyond words. I called the orphanage to let them know the news, but Alfonso and Mago thought I should send her body up the mountain, to be buried at the orphanage, the only home she had ever know. I knew it was right, and I sent her up the mountain the only way I could: with 40 bags of cement being delivered to the orphanage. This is a very strange life.

We had mass and burial tonight by candle light. It was more somber than peaceful. Wrath filled me, and still does. How dark is the darkest night? As I watched the grave being closed, and the little voices of the children’s choir behind me grew tired, and the incense rose from my feet toward the full moon above, I wondered what heaven could be like for Roselyn. I have heard it said that in heaven every moment of our life is still there, put together in a new way….a beautiful way that is timeless. Every moment, even the bad ones. Christ revealed this to be true when he appeared to the apostles STILL wounded… but his wounds were glorious. Yes, this made sense me. And I thanked God that for Roselyn, many of her eternal moments took place here, on this mountain, in our home, and they were good moments….even if they took place in a silence I could never understand.

CMMB Healthcare Programs

AIDSRelief - HIV treatment programs
Born to Live - Prevention of Mother-to-Child Transmission (PMTCT) of HIV
Choose to Care - Hospice and orphan care
Responding to AIDS in China and India - Training and educational programs
Accion por la Salud Familiar - Community programs for family health
Back to Haiti - Primary healthcare programs
Men Taking Action - Program in Zambia to address male attitudes and practices that negatively affect women attending antenatal clinics and accessing PMTCT services
Healing Help - Medical shipments