Preparations were quickly made for Kaponato’s body to be transported to Kotale for the funeral service and burial. Her aunt described that day to me as very gloomy. The sky was gray, and a steady rain was falling when the canoe arrived at the landing. The clothes on Kaponato’s body were soaked, so the village women replaced them with clean, dry clothes and tied a ribbon in her hair. Her aunt said that when she looked into the casket, it appeared as if Kaponato was sleeping. She looked strong, peaceful and happy.
Kaponato was not an old woman who had lived a long, full life. She was my good friend, just one year older than I. But through my grief I was impressed with the story of the faith and courage my friend had showed before she died.
I heard about Kaponato’s death when we returned to Papua New Guinea after our furlough. My adopted sister, Elsie, came to see me and told me everything that had happened since we left. There was quite a bit of news about all my friends in Kotale village. “Lyn has three children now, Rena is married, and so is Doris.” These bits of news came as no surprise to me (girls out here usually get married at a young age) but what she said next was a shock. “Kaponato died.”
“What?” I asked in disbelief. Kaponato and I used to play a lot together as kids. She was a faithful member of the girls’ choir that my sister and I started. She had been baptized with me in the Kotale lagoon. She was a sweet person whom everyone loved to be around. How could she be gone at such a young age? I wanted more details, but Elsie had not been in the village when it happened, so that was all she could tell me.
One Sabbath my family and I attended church in Kotale, Kaponato’s village. It was my first time there since our furlough. It was good to see many old acquaintances again. As I was sitting under the shade of a mango tree visiting with friends, I looked up to see Kaponato’s aunt coming toward me. She greeted me with a warm embrace. “Sorry about Kaponato,” she said with downcast eyes.
“What happened to her? Why did she die? Do you know the story?” My questions came tumbling out. With a nod, she began to tell the story as best she knew it.
A few years earlier, Kaponato had moved to a logging camp about a day’s travel away. There she got married and gave birth to a baby boy. It wasn’t long before Kaponato was expecting another baby. This time she was taken to the Balimo hospital where she could get good care during and after the delivery. She gave birth to a healthy little girl. But after the birth, Kaponato didn’t recover like normal. Instead of regaining her strength, she became very weak and sick. The nurses at the hospital ran tests to find out what was causing her illness. After studying the results they diagnosed her with tuberculosis. The hospital had seen a comparatively high number of TB cases coming from the logging camp where Kaponato had been living.
Kaponato’s parents stayed with her at the hospital. Despite the loving care she received, her condition continued to worsen. She was dying. One day she mustered what strength she had, pulled herself out of bed, made her way over to the wash basin and carefully bathed her body. Putting on clean clothes and neatly combing her hair, she invited her family to gather around her. In a quiet but earnest voice she pleaded with them to get their lives in order. “Jesus is coming soon, and I want to see you in the resurrection.”
Not too long after that, Kaponato closed her eyes and, with a smile on her face, went to sleep. Seeing her smile, her family remarked, “This smile is not good. It is her last.” It was her last—on this earth anyway.
Kaponato had been a ray of sunshine to lots of people, and her death brought tears to many eyes. But I am comforted by the hope of seeing her again in a better land. By God’s grace and our choice, we all can join Kaponato on that soon-coming resurrection morning.
