Happy Halloween

What is my Halloween disguise?  A "blan" in a foreign land.  That's good enough for this year.  I certainly got asked for treats from kids today, but instead of costumes they had dirty clothes and they knocked on our car window asking for money or for my watch.  No scary monster sounds, but pitiful voices asking "1 dollar souple."  I wished I had a bag of candy, or solutions to their street-bound state to offer them.

 

Another big day.  Seems one day has as many new surprises as the next.  We woke sleepily this morning.  There is a church hidden across the street behind the walls that line the road.  We learned about this church when a large cry and hymn rose up in the night around 10pm.  We listened a while outside our room.  A preacher was hollering out phrases and the congregation was answering back in unison, in song.  Sounded like there was a mass of people.  Their voices carried across the thick night air.  We were amazed, however, to hear their voices go on and on and on.  Literally, I think church finally got over at 3am.  Patrick Villier says this is very common in Haiti.  Why the middle of the night, I don't know.  But the voices sung us to sleep.

 

Today we had our own car--a rough-and-tumble, has-been-around-the-block-a-zillion-times rough rider.  It surely will be baptized with a name soon, because if nothing else, the car has character.  For a while, Patrick couldn't get his window down, and his sweating increased 10-fold with the heat locked inside the car.  The driver's door doesn't unlock, so Patrick has to crawl through the car to get to the driver's seat.  We are a comical sight.  No, I haven't yet unleashed the courage to take over the wheel.  I figure Patrick is doing so well, why spoil mojo?

 

We took the crazy drive to the school, slipping around mac trucks, breaking for people weaving across the street, avoiding bicyclists and those on motorcycles, and attempting to miss crater-like pot holes.  The strangest sight we passed was a man carrying two goats tied upside down by the feet.  We pulled into the drive up to the school and slowly moved through a sea of children. Today was the first day we got to the school before classes had started.  Each class was lined up in the yard ready to march in single-file to their rooms.  We received bigger smiles today as our presence surely is becoming more familiar.

 

We had a few moments to put our things away, and then Patrick V. asked us, "Do you want to help teach an English class?"  Sure!  One of the teachers lead us to our separate classrooms.  I walked in, expecting the man to follow so we could commence with our "team teaching," but no.  He handed me a piece of chalk, and walked away.  No debriefing on how much English the students knew, no information on a culturally sensitive class format.  Dive in and learn to swim quick.  Well, I'm not convinced I really learned to swim today.  I stood in front of the class initially dumbfounded, and then panicking as a room full of 35-40 middle school-aged children stared back at me.  I started with a greeting, and they echoed their greeting back in unison.  I told them my name, and each in turn went around the class saying "my name is..." To be honest, the only two I really picked up was "Peter" and "Stefani" since the rest were long and oh so foreign sounding.  --sigh--  I tried a little conversational class style, but was met mostly with silence and confused looks.  So I grabbed my chalk and gave the most schizophrenic class lesson probably ever performed.  Let me remind you that my 12 years of education was in medicine, not language education.  And today it showed.  I'd start with a subject matter i.e. days of the week, and write them on the board.  They'd read them in unison.  I made the mistake of thinking they knew the meaning of these words and then moved on to a new subject: animals, emotions, action verbs.  I know, I know... too much, but I was frantic.   And yes, I acted out all emotions and action verbs.  Laughing maniacally, frowning, grinning, jumping around the room.  I'm sure they thought I was a lunatic, and I'm not sure I wasn't.  I'd look into the sea of faces and see amusement, boredom, interest, patience, and several who had completely tuned out.

 

My chalk was flying---bits literally flinging off behind my head.  I went through no less than 3 chalk sticks trying to figure out what they didn't know.  Eventually I learned that they in fact did not know all the categories I was whizzing them through, they just could read well.   And I sweat.  Sweat profusely.  I haven't sweat so heavily while NOT doing intense aerobic exercise EVER.  The sweat came from stifling heat and from panic.  A little angel in the front row looked at me with pity and handed me a paper napkin.  OH MERCI!!!!  I mopped my brow until the napkin became a dissolving lump that I smooshed in my pocket.  So much for not letting them see you sweat.

 

Mercifully, the real English teacher showed up an hour into my rapid-fire English lesson.  By that time I was a dripping mess, and would have hugged him in relief except he looked so fresh and clean.

 

I'd like to think I could teach a better class.  With a little preparation, a little background information.  And maybe when I teach my next class, things will be better received.  But today it was I that got schooled.

 

I found out that Patrick had a similar experience in his own classroom.  Left at the chalkboard like a baby on the doorstep.  He didn't panic as much as I did--having taught a class before--and moved them eventually through some reasonable lessons.  His only fumble came when he was trying to get a teenager to turn around, sit down, and stop talking to his friend by grabbing his belt loop.  But the belt loop broke.  Oops. Patrick told me he was struck with momentary panic, horrified that he had just torn a child's clothes.  But the student laughed, teased him and rapport was established immediately.  Close one.  So much for the Christ-like missionaries coming in.  One sweats like a human fountain, and the other rips children's clothes.  Neat.

 

So not a stellar day at the blackboard for the Bentrotts.

 

We had a meeting with the head nurses of the nursing school after our teaching.  We discussed what it is that they hope I can do for them.  The laundry list of roles to play and classes to teach and clinics to work in left me instantly feeling overwhelmed.  Our official start date is next week with translators to help us teach, and the clinic will be open for its first patients.  I don't know what is in the drawers of the clinic or how to get diagnostics done or what services can reasonably be provided, but I just have to trust we'll all do the best we can and I'll figure it out as I go.  I came close to to loosing my sense of humor for a moment in the meeting.  But Villiers and Patrick quickly teased me back into perspective.  Thank God for them.  It will be humor that keeps us jumping into overwhelming tasks, chalk flying, sweat pouring and hopefully we'll get a few things done.

 

Tonight we spend the first of the next 3 months in the Walls Guest House in Port Au Prince.  The staff is friendly and accommodating, there is a wireless Internet connection when the power is on, laundry services, and two meals a day.  We feel grateful for the transitional housing that will allow us to focus on our jobs and our language training during these first 3 intense months.

 

Time to go wash off the sticky sweat of the day.  Bonswa and good night. 

Day #2, October 30th, 2008

I write as Patrick does jumping jacks on his yoga mat, preparing for his evening workout of yoga and sit-ups.  If I motivate, I'll pull out my workout DVD and do a 10-20 minutes of aerobics.  Last night I managed 8 1/2 minutes before the day's heat fatigue got the best of me.  It was either stop or barf.  I chose stop.  We are trying to get into a good routine during these early days of living in Haiti.  Evening walk, language lessons, exercise, journaling and reflection.  TV only frustrates us as we can't understand the rapid-fire Creole narrating each program.  The quite is nice after a day of talking and thinking and learning, learning, learning. 

This morning we both woke up feeling more well rested. The power in Port-Au-Prince stayed on long enough last night to sufficiently cool the room, and we slept like pampered babies.  This morning's breakfast was peanut butter (gold!), bread and a bowl of cornflakes.  We had two cans of milk--full cream and warm.  I had to smile thinking of what my brother Chris would do--he has a horrible aversion to warm milk after an unfortunate childhood incident at our neighbor's house (who is a dairy farmer) involving a glass of freshly milked milk.  Patrick reacted for him.  It was his morning to dry-heave.  His face twisted into a grimace after having a taste--tongue sticking in and out of his mouth like a snake as if trying to wiggle the taste off.   We are such WIMPS!!  It will take time, I suppose.  Luckily breakfast is served in the privacy of our room so no onlookers to offend. 

Today Patrick drove everywhere we went with Francois.  We even navigated one of the routes without her help!  This is a huge feat considering lack of street signs and a completely confused sense of direction.  I only covered my eyes once when a person carrying a rickshaw walked himself 1/2 inch from our bumper.  

We met our language tutor today--a teacher Patrick V. set up for us.  Obert is a former student at the school, and is preparing to go to college--eventually in the U.S.--in linguistics.  He speaks Creole, Spanish, French and English.  Smart kid.  He talked as fast as I walk, and by the time the 10 o'clock start of the lesson rolled around and the sun was directly overhead, Patrick and I fought feeling defeated only seconds into the lesson.  Although clearly new at teaching, he made up for lack of lesson plan by energy.  He sat with us well over two hours introducing vocab, explaining verbiage, and helping us with pronunciation.  Although initially a bit overwhelming, his enthusiasm for language was contagious.  We'll also get a bit of cultural orientation as well through such lessons.  Today we worked on words for things in a house.  We selected things familiar to us from our own American kitchens: stove, oven, table.  We avoided "refrigerator" and "sink" knowing that these were luxuries here.  He reminded us that very important words to learn in Creole were charcoal and fire--two daily parts of the "kitchen" all Haitians used.  We find that in interacting with these neatly dressed students who are clean-cut and wear American-styled clothes, who are easy to smile and relaxed in presentation, it is easy to forget from what kind of home they walk to school.  Easy to forget what their mothers and fathers have to do all day to keep the home running and their children fed.  Obert reminded us of that today as our preoccupation with learning the language and getting ourselves "settled" shadowed the reality of the lives surrounding us.

Language lessons are certainly not limited to a tutorial.  Anyone who sees us engages us in a mini Creole lesson, and we in turn help them with their English.  CONASPEH is a school that teaches its students French, English and Spanish.  Everyone has been exposed.  So in order to communicate with the students who know pieces of so many languages, we've found ourselves slipping into a new mix of languages we affectionately call "Spanglole."  Or "Crengish."  Whatever.

With Spanglole we had a meeting with Francois and the head of the theology department today in which Patrick was told he was to be the head overseer of the seminary.  This award comes despite Patrick not knowing anything of the syllabus, the course style, the subject matter presented, the philosophy, and--oh yes--the language.  I haven't seen my husband look so overwhelmed in a while, but he adapted quickly.  We were told that they are anxious for us to start teaching.  Pronto.  No, no translators will be needed because, "that's how you will learn the language."  (cue panic) We clarified later that we can teach ENGLISH, but would of course wait to teach anatomy an theology until we had a better (any) command over the language.  Clarification comes over the course of several hours because the problem with Spanglole is that all speakers involved know a unique set of words in each language, so it is in no way universal.  --sigh--  We keep reminding ourselves that this is only Day 2, we can already recognize a few Creole words when spoken slowly, and can utter a few choppy sentences if brave.  So we are learning quickly even if it seems not quickly enough.

Francois treated us to a delicious lunch of Creole cuisine... fish (head still on), rice and beans, green beans and onions in a spicy red sauce.  YUM.  Even though I did not feel hungry at all, Patrick and I wolfed down the huge lunch vigorously and loved every bite (after covering the poor fish's face with my napkin).  I also greatly enjoy juices in Haiti.  Today we had strawberry juice--sweet with sugar.  Mmmmm. Yummy.  And a whole pitcher of clean water.  Delight.  We couldn't have been happier in a 4-star restaurant.  And this restaurant looked so different than our American versions.  Stark in its floor-to-celing tile, cooks and wait staff took orders behind bars.  A waitress brought us our food after we ordered.  Barbed wire circled the outside of the store protecting it from the violence on the street.  But despite the austere appearance, the workers were friendly and smiled easily, the food was delicious, and the air conditioning worked like a charm.  Sweet relief.

After our time at the school, we took another walk to the Supermarket, successfully exchanged money even though we hadn't yet masted, "may we exchange money here?" in Creole.  It came out in bits, and the woman at the cash register was kind enough to humor us.  Bless her.  The walk to and from the Supermarket was equally rewarding this afternoon with shared "Bonswa's" with everyone we passed.  I think a few recognized us from our walk last night.  We do stick out, you know.  It's a blessing and a curse really.  I certainly had no trouble finding Patrick in the supermarket.  Easy to spot a "blan."

Through all this madness and adjustment, we observe the condition of life in Port-Au-Prince.  Nothing much has changed since we were here in March.  Maybe things are a bit greener (the one upside to the massive rainfall).  We walk past mothers squatting over cooking fires; their children busy helping prepare meals.  Vendors line the street selling everything from shoes to mattresses, tires to candies.  The smell of smoke saturates the air.  And the air is hot, leaving sweat and dirt clinging to the skin like a mask.  Buses belch their fumes, UN patrol vehicles cruise the streets with soldiers ready at the gun.  Wild dogs pick through trash heaps trying to find a morsel of food to keep their ribs from protruding trough their skin.  Women and men alike carry loads atop their head ranging from bundles of clothing to blocks of ice to huge packages of materials.  Passersby return our greetings with sing-song "Bonswa's" as if they didn't have a care in the world, as if the load they carry was not of any bother.  Of course we know this is far from true.  And knowing it makes us more desperate to learn the language so we can begin to collect the stories of the people here.

So now we've done a couple of Creole lessons, and Patrick is exercising.  I suppose I will too before hopping in the shower to rinse the dust of the city off my skin.  Tomorrow promises to be another BIG day... moving to the guest house where we can finally unpack a bit, more language barrage, meetings with the nursing delegation, etc... We try not to look like deer caught in the headlights.  Trying to roll with it.  We are quickly recognizing each other's moments of frustration, and counterbalancing if possible.  Humor is called into action.  I believe it will be our saving grace through these awkward days of adjustment.  I can't believe its only been two days.

Day #1, October 29, 2008

We woke sweaty and restless.  night does not bring cool to Port-Au-Prince.  And to avoid getting eaten alive by mosquitoes in our sleep, we kept the windows of our room at La Colom Hotel shut.  Stifling.

The alarm went off at 6am.  After staying up studying Creole, morning seemed to come early to our foggy brains.  A cold shower did the trick, however, to wake us up to our first day in Haiti.

Breakfast came--delivered to the room as is the hotel's custom.  This morning sugary grapefruit juice (yum), strong black coffee (medicinal), plantains and a mystery meat with onions in a red sauce.  Liver?  Goat?  Please God no, not dog?!?!  The sauce was yummy, the plantains dry but good with the sauce.  But the meat.  Yikes.  There are very few things I can't swallow down with a little muster.  But the chewy, gristly consistency at 7am got my gag reflex a going.  Not a good start to embracing Haitian culture.  I couldn't help feeling ashamed as we left most of our meet on our plates.  Hate to be the ungrateful American too picky to eat the generous food before me.  We placated ourselves hoping that someone who REALLY needed the calories would be glad for a little leftovers to eat.  

Francois Villier greeted us in the morning with hugs and welcome.  We rode her jeep to the school and CONASPEH headquarters down the road.  Francois took us from room to room, kindergarten to seniors in secondary school introducing us.  As we'd walk in, the entire classroom would stand up and greet us in unison.  "Welcome."  The little ones were all smiles, giggles and waves.  We couldn't help laughing ourselves.  The older students were a little more reserved, but returned smiles easily.  Patrick's first surprise of the day came when PatrickVillier introduced Patrick blan (foreigner) as the new school basketball coach.  Patrick then had to field a barrage of questions about when try-outs were going to be held and how he was going to pick the team.  The fact Patrick couldn't speak a lick of Creole saved him from his obvious surprise.  So our jobs start to become defined!!

After our hearty welcome, we were shown our new office, a plain white-washed room with the CONASPEH emblem painted on one wall (an upside down tree symbolizing roots in heaven, work on earth).  We have a small window that looks out to an alley where children were starring in and giggling.  Since we hadn't brought any supplies to decorate our office, we instead took the "office time" to pull out our Creole books continue our jump start we started last night with renewed inspiration.

I had a few moments with the head nurse of CONASPEH who told me of our first venture out in the mobile unit next week.  I immediately got excited.  Looks like clinic work is closer than I imagined.  I had had grand plans of having formal sit-down meetings with her her, discussing her vision for the clinic and what she wanted for me, what I could bring to the clinic and the nursing school.  But clearly, we'll just get rolling straight away.  Clarification will come, I assume.  And Creole must come fist if I'm going to be and effective co-worker and physician.  So again, desperate inspiration to learn Creole and learn it FAST!

The rest of the morning was spent touring a Guest House that can serve as transitional housing while we wait for our more permanent lodging to become available and getting our cell phones.  Getting cell phones in Haiti was a cultural experience in itself.  Just two days ago, we were in a T-Mobile store in Denver discontinuing our account.  The two experiences couldn't be more different.  We walked into the store and stood at the counter for some time before any of the sales staff even looked up.  Not so much busy, but just appeared board.  and hot.  We were able to decide on a plan that looked like it would suit our needs, and find the cheapest of phones, but still ended up paying $200/month for 550 minutes each!  Yikes!  A luxury in Haiti, for sure!  I guess in some way we thought things would be cheaper in a developing country, but the reality of the situation in Haiti become all the more clear during our few shopping trips today.  Filling out the forms proved to be a bit of a challenge... trying to figure out what information the phrases were asking.  We were asked for our "titles."  Patrick V suggested we put "missionary," or "doctor," or "pastor."  Little did we know that these titles would superseded our first names so that now, the names on our account are "Missionary Bentrott and Bentrott."  I got the giggles.  The whole shopping experience took no less then 1 1/2 hours.  I kept thinking back to a grumpy man who was in the T-Mobile store with us, just infuriated that it took 15 whole minutes on the phone with customer service to get his problem solved.  He'd be doing a Tasmanian devil impersonation if in Haiti.  Best keep to the U.S., I think for him.  ;)

The rest of the afternoon, Patrick and I sat in various perches around the school with our Creole books open, our pens copying new words, our mouths imitating new sounds, and attempting to engage curious children who wondered what the "blan" (foreigners) were doing.  Our biggest public language lesson came when we sat in a room occupied by a number of women benefiting from the Child Sponsorship program.  As mothers of children sponsored by people in the U.S., they came once a month to collect money to help feed and cloth their families.  All were lovely, and when we said in very broken, painful Creole that we were learning Creole, the room broke into bright smiles.  Patrick introduced himself, and asked if he said it correctly.  Lots of nods.  Then each woman around the room introduced themselves in turn.  It took us a while to figure it out.  We initially were sounding out their names back to them and flipping through our English/Creole dictionary.  Thank goodness for Natasha who helped flip the light switch on in our cooked brains.  They then asked us if we had a "pitit" and clued us in by swinging their arms back and forth as if rocking an invisible infant.  Oh Right!  So good to know we have a community full of tutors.

We ended our day at CONASPEH riding with Francois to get her son from school.  She immediately pulled over and had Patrick drive.  I'm not going to lie.  As much as I'd like to say I had complete doubtless faith in my husband's abilities to negotiate Port-Au-Prince traffic driving a stick-shift, truth is terror instead welled up from my gut.  I knew this day would come, but had hoped it would come in a few days, a week maybe.  Now I can honestly say I'm ashamed for my doubt.  Patrick did beautifully.  Francois kept telling him in Creole, "good driver!"  I had to agree.  Aside form killing the car once on a hill full of pot holes and incurring some vigorous beeping from the car VERY close behind us, he managed the trip through main roads and twisty, bumpy side streets like a pro.  Ah pride.  Pride in my husband who is clearly more brave than I am at this point, and adapts at lightening speed.

After that big accomplishment of the day, we were left at our hotel to rest the evening away.  Upon hitting our cooled-off room and seeing our Creole books staring back at us, we decided to take a break and walk to the Supermarket up the street before dark.  The sidewalks were filled with people.  As we had been taught by Felix, we greeted most people as we passed them with "Bonswa" (good evening), and received big smiles and greetings in return.  Tonight was such a different experience from our first walk down that very sidewalk.  When we visited in March, we had walked silently, avoiding eye contact like careful Americans.  I felt watched, read suspicion in onlookers faces and certainly didn't feel at home in a foreign land.  But tonight was a complete turn-face.  We felt happy, calm and glad to be on a walk.  We saw a pick-up basketball game played on a local court, and braved crossing an intersection jam-packed with cars, tap-taps (pick-up truck taxis brightly painted), UN army vehicles and huge trucks.

Our last venture of the day was to the supermarket to check things out.  Just like in America, 5pm was a busy time there.  We decided to simply peruse the isles checking out what was in stock and prices.  Again we were disappointed that the prices weren't a big super saver.  In fact, most common-place items were shocking--peanut butter $10 U.S.  Again, the reality of the world food crisis, of import taxes and the effects they have in the local markets was staring back at us from the price tags.  The prices won't affect us too much.  Sure, we'll have to be frugal and will appreciate the rare time when we purchase a Jiff peanut butter, but for us it will allow us to appreciate things as they deserve to be appreciated.  But for the Haitian, the prices are so out of their daily allowance.  If the average Haitian makes $2/day, then they can't ever shop in the supermarket.

Now we are back in our room.  We both have knocked off a few Creole lessons, and got a bit slap happy after a day of beating our brains with the foreign sounds.  Patrick learned the phrase for "I want" and then ended it with "nookie."  He got a punch in the arm, and the lessons were over. :)

So with this, we'll turn in early, anticipating another brain-straining day tomorrow in the Haitian heat.  I imagine sleep will come with more ease tonight.

Bon Nuit.--Good night!

Arrival, October 28, 2008

Hot muggy air riding on an ocean breeze greeted our faces as we stepped off the plane onto the tarmac.  The smell of woodsmoke road on the wind.  The breeze was welcome. On the plane toward Port-Au-Prince, anxiety rode high, butterflies doing dive-bombs in our bellies.  But the warm Haitian air seemed to calm the madness in our minds.  

customs was easier than expected.  I almost had to laugh at the lazy approach the agents took to questioning our belongings or purpose.  "You have medications?" "yes, they are for personal use." "OK"  No bags unzipped, no rifling through carefully packed items.  And we were done.

We loaded up our 7 huge 50lb bags and rolled them outside of the airport where we were met with a barrage of "bellmen" crowding around our bags.  Of course they were all working for tips, and it was never just one man per customer... but I had to admit I was glad for the help.  The front wheel of the cart didn't roll right which set up a precarious situation with our mountain of stuff.  A momentary panic hit when we didn't immediately see Patrick Villier waiting for us.  Should we get a taxi?  How do we ask for it?  Where do we tell it to go?  Do we have enough money?  Patrick and I exchanged worried glances through the crowd of bellmen.  But one helpful man offered his phone, and we called Patrick to find he was just on the other side of the waiting area.  Crisis averted.  So on we lumbered surrounded by our caravan of helpers.  Once tipped, loaded and greeted heartily by Patrick Villier, we were on our way down the roads of Port-Au-Prince.

I was surprised to not feel as shocked by what I saw.  Immediately, I was grateful for our trip in March that allowed for all the shock and horror to happen in one intense week.  Instead, I recognized familiar routes, the sights and sounds seemed to welcome us, and a calm set that for the first time in days helped me find my resolve that we had made the right decision in coming.

Patrick took us to the hotel we stayed at on our first trip.  We'll stay here for a few nights until we find a guest house to move into for 3 months, and then on to our more permanent housing.  A couple of the hotel employees recognized us from our last visit and gave us warm greetings.  What a lovely welcome.  

We've spent the remainder of the evening in the room, diving hard into our Creole studies, organizing our bags, and letting the stress and worry of the last few months ebb out into the warm evening air.

I feel hopeful, inspired, ready to start learning and getting established.  I'm grateful that the fear and anxiety that we were wrapped for so long seems to have let go.  Now the work begins.  And it feels good.  Se bon.

Last Days At Home

Our travel calendar has been completed save for the ultimate departure to Haiti.  Our last week at home was spent apart: Patrick n Denver taking care of last minute business with his ordination and I on the farm with the family.  I savored every last minute.  I brought Sadie to the farm with me so that my little animal family would be reunited one last time.  

The torrential rains that preceded my trip home allowed Dad to be with me each and all day, helping Gram, navigating her through her health care appointments.  I love time, just me and my dad.  I fell so peaceful around him.  I solve problems better.  And I am reminded of what an incredible rock, what a generous soul, what an amazing man in the community and in our family he is.  Plus we have a lot of laughs.  We went to coffee in the morning with the farmers--hearing talks of crops and rain and the latest dirty jokes.  We would spend the morning with Gram running errands or getting her to appointments laughing with her and loving her own stubborn bossiness in the face of her own frustration at her physical health.  If we were lucky, we'd have the afternoon on the farm to take a walk, eat lunch, take naps or just be together.

Gram was not feeling her best.  She was recently out of the hospital and weak with a new illness.  She was stubborn and insistent on being home instead of in the hospital where we all hoped she'd agree to.  But despite feeling horrible, she still entertained.  She still took care of.  She still bossed.  And I love her for it.  She is an example for me how to live life, how to love family.  I love her feistiness... I think it keeps her young.  I loved having days on end to laugh with her, help her when she'd let me, stick my face in her neck and breathe in the smell of her perfume.  

Mom was amazing... protective...vying for time.  She played hookie on Friday to help me take Gram around to her appointments.  I loved tooling around with her.  The ordinary is fun with mom.  I felt completely at peace with her and sunk into the comfort of doing errands and dipping into conversation that comes just from being in each other's space.  She was either functioning from some new-found resolve, or kicking her ultimate mother protective powers in, because she worked hard to celebrate our decision, and not to weigh us down with feelings of loss or guilt at going so far away.  And I loved her for it.  

Chris, Candy and Conor came up Saturday as did Pats, Pres and Meliss.  I got to ride the four-wheeler with Conor-bean, jump on hay bails, play ball in the yard, play castle on the living room floor and just revel in amazing lines of conversation that would flow from my nephew.  I got to give hugs to Meliss and meet her new Bo, talk politics with Pats, and have some one-on-one time with Uncle Preston.  Chris and I took a long walk on Sunday to the Prairie Patch--explored the woods there and fell into good conversation--nothing too heavy, just reconnecting and enjoying.  We road the four-wheeler together with the Bean before it was time to go.  I haven't had to do something so hard in a long time as it was saying good-bye to Chris.  All the love he has for me mixed with the fear he has in our decision rolled out of him.  And it met my own feelings of doubt, loss and heartbreaking love.  Hugging, I felt so close to him, connected in our tears.  I wanted to somehow protect him from pain, reassure him that we'd be ok--but not even being able to reassure myself.  I hate that the choices we make are so scary to the people we love.  But like Mom said, it allows a window to open into how much we love each other.

The rest of the day has been shot.  Everything seems like the last... last Kansas sunset, last walk down the soft dirt road, last night snuggling with Duke and Sadie and Shanti on the bed, last evening with Mom and Dad, last deep breath of crisp, clean fall air, last glance at the prairie with the sun illuminating the grasses and setting their colors on fire.  Tonight I cried for nature and for home, for fresh air, for the farm.  I cried for my animals and the little way of life we had together that will no longer be.  I cried for the fear of the unknown, for leaving my safety net and my support system.  I cried until I was left empty.  Numb.

Now its time to fill up the emptiness.  I have no tears left for myself.  The time has come to focus my energy on others.  Time to find deep down the courage to hold my head high and march into the horizon, knowing that all I love is carried deep in the core of who I am and in the most luxurious of thoughts.  Our departure is only a day away, and I ready myself with the calm that comes after the storm.  I'm now as ready as I'll ever be.