10 months with you, 10 months without you

My friend’s sister went through a tough pregnancy with her now twin one year old girls, who are simply adorable and have been nothing but a blessing for her and her family since then. Anyways—very few people actually knew how incredibly rough her situation was…until she shared the story on her new blog. It brought most everyone, including myself, near tears. The journey was unimaginable, unless you went through it yourself. Sound familiar? From her I learned how healing it was to put her story out there. And from my experience, I know the more I discuss the event of September 3, 2010 the easier it gets.

I have had a fair share of opportunities to share my story, yet as a "blogger" I feel opening the flood gates for others to read (or ignore) at their own will would be most beneficial. At this time I do not feel as though it’s right for me to publish the details without the consent of the people who may have been hurt the most, T.C.M.’s parents, whom I have had zero contact since the night of the murder. I have no idea what they know about the events of the night… but whatever they know was derived from my mouth, most likely channeled through several officials before reaching them.

Healing is difficult when your natural tendency is to dissociate. You never actually heal from such a trauma; it becomes a part of you. Right now I can't share the actual account but recollecting the back story seems appropriate on the ten month anniversary.

T.C.M. and I were not involved in any sort of romantic relationship; we were extremely good friends. Despite our platonic status, he continually professed he was going to marry me one day and prematurely insisted on calling my parents his in-laws. This was all in fun and games, of course. I was closer to T.C.M. than I have been with most people in my life. Part of this closeness was the nature of our situation: two young high school math/science teachers stranded “together” in the same mountainous district of Lesotho, for what was supposed to be two years. Apart from our proximity to one another, we had a lot in common. I had a college friend from his hometown, we shared rival National League East baseball teams, were both educated at southern institutes, come from families of musical inclination, and much more. Our extreme personalities counterbalanced each other quite nicely. He brought out a side of me I didn’t even know existed, a side of me I really liked. He was a schemer (I find most men are) with the unique ability to dream big and follow through, an admirable character trait.

Confident and caring, he shared my passion for Lesotho and global health, while remaining grounded by his family and large friend base back stateside.

Before moving to our Thaba-Tseka homes we spent a long weekend together in the South (of Lesotho), with a volunteer two classes our superior, learning about site life. During the three month district lock-down we were able to visit each other, prior to celebrating our "newbie" status with the remainder of our district. As time went on I grew less fond of public transportation and my primary teaching job. When I needed an escape from my village (or a shower) I weekended in Katse, T.C.M.'s home. He was always there to bounce ideas off of or forget about stress with for awhile. When he ran out of money or fresh produce... he made his way to the camptown where I resided. The entire district of Thaba-Tseka has very few high schools, meaning our schools frequently brought us together for events--track meets, debates, science competitions.

The first semester ended and we were both ready to get off the mountain, well mother nature had a different idea. It snowed and snowed and snowed a little more. There was never any real accumulation--just enough to keep transportation inoperable. We made the best of the situation by celebrating the World Cup opening at the lodge with his co-workers. The weather cleared and we parted ways, reuniting in early July.

T.C.M. visited [my] town to track down the perfect pig for a 4th of July slaughtering. He had "his" welder make him a spit for the occasion I was not planning on attending (me=vegetarian). You had to be there to understand the trials and tribulations required to purchase swine in Lesotho. Reeediculous! Realize, what was supposed to take him a day, took the week, in addition my accompanying him back to Katse, where I eventually witnessed this debatably humane killing.

The rest of winter came and went, ending with a week long AIDS training in Nazareth, a five plus hour trek West from my home. Immediately following, school started back, not feeling well I kept to myself for most of August--finally accepting company the last weekend. We got into shenanigans only T.C.M. would track down. Hotel party? In Africa? The very next weekend we traveled the six hours to Maseru, the capitol of Lesotho, for the Close of Service Banquet in honor of the education group ahead of ours.

This post is now a novel; I never said it was a short story. After typing I feel much relief, recalling many more good--over the one epic bad memory.