When I wasn’t tearing up or crying, I had a lump in my
throat most of my last Saturday in Zim.
I barely held it together as I took one last trip to the grocery store,
walking through the aisles in search of the perfect bargains to stretch my
money as far as it would go for what I dreaded since we decided to move out of
the country: our last visit to our orphanages.
It was the day I had to say goodbye to “my seven” and a number of
special others that we came to care deeply about during our time in Zim.
Goodbyes are always hard, especially when you wonder about
eventually seeing someone again. But
what felt even worse, on this especially cold and windy day, was being another
adult that was deserting these kids for my own personal green pasture, which
did not include them.
The visit to our remote orphanage -as it often did-
interrupted a barefoot game of soccer.
As we drove in one last time we were surrounded, as always, with
familiar happy faces and too many grabbing hands. We laughed with the boys one last time, gave
them special treats and pictures (the ultimate), and handed out bags of
homemade trail mix as a last attempt at shoving protein in their malnourished
bodies. We gave the boys our only solid
contact info: email addresses that got quizzical looks and raised
eyebrows. “Just keep it,” I said. “In a few years you may just see a computer
here.”
We hugged, and Kudakwashe let us
out the gate, waving as we drove away one last time. I cried as we turned onto the paved road
that would take us back to the city, while our car randomly pumped the
croonings of Regina Spektor into the air.
At first it felt weird, like driving into my 21st century
life while I left children behind without so much as electricity for the
night. The upbeat music was ironic and
awkward as we sat there with such heavy hearts and quivering lips.
Then Spector’s words suddenly felt more appropriate than any I’ve heard
before.
No, this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
And try to love the things you took
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some
Someone else's heart
Pumping someone else's blood
And walking arm in arm
You hope it don't get harmed
But even if it does
You'll just do it all again
