The Beginning of Closure

To tell this story right, I need to flash back to March 2013, when Peace Corps reached out to me with an “urgent question”. To ask this question, Peace Corps wanted my phone number. For several reasons, I felt less than comfortable providing my number to this agency. I said I would consider answering the question via email.  After more than two weeks of waiting – clearly lacking urgency – Peace Corps opted not to question me and once again dissipated from my life. In March, it was the Country Director of Lesotho who reached out to me.

In August – on the 26^th – Peace Corps returned; this time the Regional Security Officer, a man based out of Pretoria, South Africa and the same man who sat through all the interviews before I was released from Lesotho contacted me. He asked for my phone number, and again I refused to provide it. Four days later, via email, he asked me to return to Lesotho to testify in the High Court. I had several stipulations for travel, my number one priority being that I would not travel alone. My conditions for travel were met on September 10. Mind you, in the interim, the third anniversary passed. Then the preparation began. On September 12 at 5:30 am I had a conversation with the prosecutor to address my questions (and those questions others helped me prepare). On Friday, September 13 – after work – I spoke with the Victim Advocate by phone. Then, on Tuesday, September 16, I went to Peace Corps Headquarters to meet with the Lead Security Specialist, the Chief of Overseas Operations in the Office of Safety and Security, the Victim Advocate, a counselor, and the Acting Director of Peace Corps. I was there for over two hours being debriefed on everything. At 11:45 am on Wednesday, September 17, not having heard anything, I reached out to the Lead Security Specialist. And it wasn’t until then – departure set for Friday afternoon – that I received confirmation this was real; Boyfriend and I would be traveling back to the Mountain Kingdom. So preceding this, I shared the news with extended family and friends.

The back and forth with Peace Corps was a blur. Fielding the countless emails and phone calls was a second full time job. I tried through all of this to give work – my paying gig – my best; I was busy prepping for an impending Government Shutdown. And when I’m on the clock, work is (as it should be) my number one focus.

Those final two days leading up to departure continued in a hazy manner. I remember there was a lot to get done. But mostly I remember breaking down a whole bunch. Over. And Over. Same story. I pulled myself together on Friday morning enough to function. I managed to write overdue thank you notes, sent birthday cards, and run some errands – bank, Whole Foods, Dunkin Donuts, and the library. Oh and I finally packed. Boyfriend showed up about a half hour before he arranged the taxi, a million hours too early. But I had zero energy to refute his bizarre airport etiquette. So I went with it. In tears. At the airport we browsed every store Terminal B had to offer… and then waited. I read Emily Griffin’s Love the One Your With, in search of true mindlessness. After arriving in Atlanta, where there were food and shop options for entertainment, we had zero to no time to move from Terminal B to Terminal T. If you know Hartsfield-Jackson, you know what a feat that can be. The plane was exactly what you’d expect a 15 hour flight to be – poor food, intermittent sleep, cramp-y legs. I read. Boyfriend slept. I slept. Boyfriend watched videos. And I vowed to never fly Delta international again.

Then we landed in Jo-Burg. And based on my inability to ID any suspect coupled with the fact three years of time has passed and I there was a single new piece of information I could offer, I wondered what the heck I was doing on the street of Africa… again.

The Journey

More than four years ago, I started writing as an experiment to see if I would enjoy the ride. I have. This blog has been multipurpose throughout the years, but over time morphed into a place of healing for me. I needed to write to escape and process. For better or worse, this experiment has come head to head with my real life on several occasions. And all of a sudden my thoughts are too dark and confused to put on the blog. This has been the case most recently. So as I have before, I had to sort through these thoughts before I could put them on the internet for the world to read. It’s easy to sit down and write about the good times, say my first adult vacation. The one I took back in July. More difficult though, are the hard times, the dark times, the times I’d often rather forget.

This road I have traveled for the past four years has been flooded with moments I’d rather forget. The lessons I’ve learned have come at a price. I’m not entirely sure the full price, but I do know I’ve had to give up part of me to become who I am today. It has been painful, lonely, dizzying, and disconcerting. The times I’ve cried in sadness, anger, confusion, and weariness. Oy, the ugly cries.

I had no idea closure would be this tough. I had no idea if closure – in this form – would come at all. The rest I feel today, though preceded by many sleepless nights, is a deeper rest than I’ve ever known. Though I would not choose this journey, having come out on the other side I am stronger because of it.

Over the next few weeks I will share more about the journey I’ve been on. I hope you’ll join me.

These are the Days

This weekend I had a moment when I paused, breathed deeply and realized how peaceful everything around me seemed. The apartment was clean. I had two hours to myself outside running and walking along the local trails while colorful leaves slowly fell from trees all around me. The temperature was perfect. A friend visited, allowing us to deepen our roots through time together. There were several hours of college football watched while our crock pot dinner prepared itself. When it was time, we dined--together, slowly. There was pumpkin cheesecake for a (late) dessert; Boyfriend kindly whipped one up at my request while I was out enjoying the outdoors. After watching Florida State demoralize Miami, we had had just enough football and put on a movie. (And finally got to taste dessert! There are apparently strict cooling rules when it comes to cheesecake.) So we all know that means I dozed off while the guys watched.

I think my actual "aha" moment was this morning during our prolonged coffee hour(s). There was pot after pot of French press coffee. And then, this afternoon Kansas City Chiefs (at Buffalo Bills) football--more rest and relaxation. I said goodbye to J.W.M., my friend, shortly after the Chiefs win and filled the rest of the evening organizing all the paperwork that has piled high during the moving madness. A little productivity to follow all the lethargy! There was another satisfying crock pot dinner--chili--to cap the weekend.

As far as scorecards go, this was a boring weekend. But something filled my heart with joy this weekend. Something tells me these are the days I'll remember.