I cry

     Although I just posted a blog, it was written over a month ago now. I almost didn't post it because it all seems so trivial now. However, those thoughts were valid at the time, so I shared. That post was about some physical expectations I had for my year here in Madagascar. I wrote about how they weren't becoming a reality. Here's the thing about those complaints, although not achieved in Mada, I can still work on those things in the States. I can get a tan if I really wanted to (but who am I kidding?!), and I can work on getting my hair healthier and losing weight. So even though these expectations were not met in Madagascar, there is still hope for them. The bigger picture remains that none of that even matters because there is one huge expectation I had that will never be realized. I expected to come home and see both of my parents. There were even recent talks about meeting up in Europe after my time in Mada. But now nothing I do here or there, will make that a reality. As my mom recently put it, my dad “flew to heaven” on March 23^rd. No matter how elegantly you put it, the truth is heartbreaking and life shattering. I won't be seeing my dad again.

     Now all I'm left with are the messages we exchanged just weeks before. Some of our last conversations were about traveling after Madagascar. He told me about how much he loved Switzerland when he went. He said it was beautiful and encouraged me to add it into my plans. He was in the process of figuring out if he could get dialysis supplies there so we could all be there together as a family. He also told me about therapy. He said it was scary to be in a nursing home, but he was getting stronger, and sounded so driven! He told me about the goals he had set, and told me sometimes he could even talk them into sneaking in an extra therapy session. He sounded so good, so positive, and was getting better... On March 8^th, I told him I went on a hike and would be leaving the next morning for our second stop on our retreat. I told him I wouldn't have Wi-Fi, but that it was supposed to be gorgeous. He told me to take a bunch of pictures. And although I did, I will never be able to show him those pictures now. On the 10^th, he told me he liked my hairdo, and the next morning I woke up to picture of Garfield hugging his teddy-bear Pookie. The caption with the picture read “A hug for Pookie!” This was the last “hug” I would receive from my dad. On March 12^th, I missed a call from him. I did not call him back, and am left to dwell on that. On March 17^th, we exchanged 2 messages each. The 18^th, I got a message that looked like a typo, and a pic of a hospital room. At first I was concerned, but then I thought maybe it was his rehab room and there was nothing to be worried about. I found out later, I should have been very worried. And why didn't I try to call him? Why didn't I speak to him one more time? These are questions I'll never have good answers for.

     Now I'm back in Mada. and the memories are haunting me. Not that I don't want to remember my dad, but I'm ready to be out of the stage where I want to cry every time I think of him. The other night I was doing my exercise and as soon as the stars came out I got teary eyed because the stars made me think of him. He had a deep appreciation of the stars and always tried to teach me about consolations. I could never spot them like he could. He told me to keep an eye out for one that you could only see in this hemisphere. But now I'll have to rely on Google to remind me which one he was talking about. I can always see 3 stars in a straight line above my building so I tell myself its Orion's belt, but he would know for sure. I get stuck on the little things too, like when I think of the fact that I don't need to bring sakay back, which is hot sauce here. And although he wasn't suppose to drink, (and I've only known him to have one drink in the past 8 years, which was with me in the Atlanta airport.) I was still going to bring rum back. And we were going to have a drink together. But now...
And the fact that he encouraged me to be here, and was proud that I was here is great. But now I'll never be able to share everything with him. He wont see my pictures, and hear my stories. And that kills me.

     The other night I decided to count how many Wednesday's I had left to teach at one of my schools before I left. I realized that the 4^th of July was on a Wednesday this year. I thought to myself that I should ask my coordinator if it would be appropriate to stop work at one place one week, and stop at another location the following week. I figured I would explain to her that 4^th of July was my second favorite holiday, and I didn't really want to spend it working, And then I immediately thought of my dad and our mutual admiration for fireworks. And I cried. I thought about how last 4^th of July did not go according to plan, and we did not spend it as we usually did. Mom and I had a wonderful time, but dad did not come. And then I thought of all the “lasts” I had missed with him by being here this year. We did not go to Chicago's International Auto Show like we have done for so many years. I did not spend his last Thanksgiving with him. I was not there to be with him in the hospital for Christmas. He wanted me here, but I missed so much. And the fact remains that no matter what I do, I can not get that time back with him. And I cried some more.
     I feel selfish. I feel selfish for being here, and wanting to be here this year even though I knew his health was not the greatest. But in my wildest dreams, I did not imagine this outcome. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I was giving a year of my life to do some good in this world. And now I'm here trying to deal with the fact that when I get home, my dad will not be there.

     We were supposed to go camping. We were already talking about Le-Aqua-Na. We would get stakes from the butcher he liked and have a great time just like in years past. We made fun of the place down the road that sold “hard ice cream”, but we would definitely enjoy some together. Camping was one of our things... I'm grateful for the time we spent together, but it wasn't supposed to be over yet. We were supposed to have years of camping ahead of us. We were supposed to have many more Thanksgivings and Christmases together. My heart literally aches knowing that this wont be the case.

     People say “remember the good times”. This is fine advice. And one day I'm sure I'll be able to focus on these thoughts. But what am I supposed to do now when every time I close my eyes I see him laying lifeless in that hospital bed? I don't sleep much, and I continuously get sad at random parts of the day and night. I'm not saying that I never smile or laugh anymore. There are times I'm happy and not thinking about this new reality. But those moments don't last forever, and I never know when I'll go from fine, to sad with no notice. I often wonder if I made the right choice to return. I know I would be sad at home as well. At least I have a purpose here, and I'm finishing my commitment. I would also like to think that my dad would have wanted me to return. In the two weeks I was in America, I was told a lot about how proud my dad was that I was doing this. But, it doesn't make this any easier. I think of my mom often. I think of all the things I could be doing for her if I would have stayed. My dad wanted me to come to Madagascar this year, but he also would have wanted me to take care of my mom. So now, I can only hope that I made the right decision. I wanted to come back to Madagascar because my time was not up, I was NOT supposed to be in America yet. Also, I love my placement and my host parents and the kids I work with, and I did not give them a proper goodbye. But if I'm being honest, I also thought it would be easier. I thought I would be away from the constant reminder. But it followed me...

So what do I do now?

I get up every day. I enjoy my time with my host family. I spend time with the younger kids who always seem to have a smile and a “salam tompoko” to share. I spend time with the older girls who love to have conversations with me and although I often struggle to understand, they are patient with me and keep trying until I catch enough of it to respond.
And I remember my dad. I remember all the good memories I have of him. I look at the pictures I have of us on my wall.
I get sad. I cry. And I do it all over again.