Subject: goodbyes....Leaving Chad
We make sure to say heartfelt goodbyes to the ones we couldn't imagine
having never said hello to. I always tell myself that I am going to
be prepared to leave a place. I make lists of everything important to
do, every loose end to tie up, every gift to give, and every person to
connect to one last time. But every time I find myself unprepared
for the splitting, running around trying to have that nice warm
feeling but instead, a feeling of dissatisfaction and frustration
seems to edge out my happy sentiments and I feel anxious.
I continued waving my hand out that ridiculously packed public
transport van even after I couldn't see my brothers and sisters
anymore. I felt a combination of feelings such as relief to be
leaving, guilt for abandoning, heart sore from the kind words said at
parting, uncertainty about what lay ahead, but yet, assured that life
still had that quality of surprise and forward motion which I so love
and that THIS was THAT quality not letting me down. I would be
surprised with the next bend. And the next. And the next.
But the next bend doesn't make the road easier. I still had to hug
my African mother goodbye, kiss my little Armelle, and make promises
of soon reunion with my sister Dinga, knowing that life for those whom
I left behind was never guaranteed.
The feeling of relief came from the fact that I felt like I had made
it to a gas station after running on empty for a lengthy stretch of
highway. You always think you know how far you can go on empty, but
you never know for sure. There were times when I felt like I wasn't
strong enough and it was relieving to be leaving with my spirit
intact.
I felt a bit like a bad person when I recognized that those who
remained at the hospital would be facing the exact moments of intense
stress, frustration, and difficulty that I was checking my heart out
of by leaving. Even now, when the clock ticks five o'clock I know the
patients are getting their bleach-water-dressing changes and at
midnight an overworked nurse gives that painful IV Penicillin. I
envision the sick getting their malaria treatments, other meds, and
hopefully settling down for the night.
I felt guilt as I walked through the hospital for the last time. I
watched a girl crying out in pain while her burns were laying open to
the air, yet shielded from the merciless insects by a thin mosquito
net. I watched a baby's whole sack-of-bones-self, voice and physique
alike, cry out for milk. I watched my friend Caroline, a nurse from
California, plead with a family to go buy the medicine for their baby.
And even as I was walking out of the Pediatrics ward, a man came to
me and said, "My child's IV has stopped. Can you come fix it?"
Caroline came over quickly and said, "I'll take care of that, she's
not working right now." It's true. I'd come to the end of my work
in Bere Hospital and something about it left a little guilty bite.
My heart ached at the kind words that were given to me at parting.
Jolie's embrace and four simple sobs, followed by the shaking of her
upward-facing-outstretched palms, a motion that our parting was
leaving something lacking, warmed me and ached me at the same time.
Mounden asked me, "What will I do when you leave, Emily?" Then he
chuckled, "Who is going to give me money to buy pigeons?" Laughter.
His last words as I sat on the public transport out were, "Emily," he
focused in through the slider window frame, "it is God who is going to
guard your heart." What he said was so true that I wanted to jump
back out of the van, take his shoulders, and tell him he knew
something really important; that those weren't just words and that
indeed God, when we want it, guards our hearts; the in and outflow of
them. Our hearts are shaped and well-learned by the hard things and
then filled and enlarged by our little and big bursts of happiness.
But our time for meaningful conversations was over for now. I
continued waving my hand out the window long after my ability to crane
my neck in their direction had ceased.
A good friend of mine, named Kacey, sent an email to me soon after
leaving that told me, "The reason we sometimes hate to leave is that
we fear we will forget the things we have experienced." Right now it
is all something that is so real at and means so much to you but we
all know as we slip back into our lives that the details of an
experience can start whispering instead of screaming their
significance. But our hearts are forever changed. Forever.
I've been here with Fletcher and Nolan now for 5 days and it's been a
breath of fresh air. I've been taking hot showers, napping, eating
healthy Ethiopian food, walking the hills meeting all these amazing
people who they've gotten so close to (these boys are gems), and just
watching them do their thing.
But, despite our contentment here, Fletcher and I have been having
these conversations that go something like, "What are you going to do
first when we get home?" We can't wait. But we will. Only three
more days. I'm looking forward to a bunch of hello's real soon.
Seriously, thank-you for being the awesome friends and family that you
are. I am lucky and blessed. Love Emily
