The thought is bittersweet: This is the last night
of good sleep you’ll be getting for a while. I’m in pajamas by 8:30, and
curled under the covers by 9. I fight with sleep, stubbornly refusing her to
steal these precious moments. The countdown consists of hours now. Chai steams hot in my favorite blue mug the
next morning. I stay in pajamas and stocking feet until a ridiculously
embarrassing hour of the morning. Sunlight filters through the windows, my spot
on the couch cozy-warm. I scroll through
blogfeeds and articles, my phone buzzes with a text, "Sleeping At Last" is on my
Pandora shuffle. There are no rats here. No howling dogs. No ants in the sugar.
Tomorrow I will head to the airport at a ridiculous 3 in the
morning, and my feet will be walking Haitian soil by 12 o’clock noon. The past
2 months have been a whirlwind-- emotionally, physically, spiritually, and
mentally exhausting. Yet, so beautiful.
My duffel is packed, filled with water balloons and
sensory-play toys and a chocolate stash that isn't quite sufficient for life in Haiti.
My passport has been dug out from the chest of important papers and plane tickets confirmed. I have a
carry-on stuffed with 42 diapers, countless short readers, and osh-kosh
overalls sized 5T. The last load of laundry is in the dryer, every bill has
been paid, all the odds and ends tied neatly as possible.
It’s all coming back, like the rushing of the tide… the laughter,
the water balloon fights, afternoon senior walks, his infectious fits of hysteria , the
mangos that thud the roof, responding to “Hannah” again.
Transitions are never easy. But to everything, there is a
season.
“A time to cry and a time to laugh.
A time to grieve and a time to dance.”
- Ecclesiastes 3:4
Cannot wait to hear these giggles again :)
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