On Saturday night, I got the news that the government would be coming for an inspection of SCH very soon. The requirement that needed to be made for this inspection would be that all of our children with chronic illness need to be grouped together in the same home. What came along with that meant Eloise would need to go back to Ongole where she first was transferred to us and Penny would need to move to another home because they are the only ones in our home without chronic illness. It also meant I would be receiving two new little one year old babies with HIV. In a matter of seconds, I realized that our family and home would abruptly change very quickly. I felt all control slip away from me. I went numb because I knew what this would mean for me and the girls. It would break our hearts to lose two members of our family and replace them with two new ones just like that. I turned my feelings off and I went into business mode, running around trying to prepare our home for the arrival of two new babies.
For me, who is naturally a sensitive soul, a deep feeler and a definite cryer, I was surprised (and a little bit disturbed) by the way I became numb so fast. I have seen some real crap here and felt some of the deepest pain I have ever felt by living in this country and being apart of this work. And over time, I have felt myself go into "shutting down" mode more because I'm just tired of seeing it. I'm tired of feeling it. I'm sick of knowing that so much of what happens here is out of my control and I have to just sit back and watch it. I have trained myself to turn my feelings off when I know I just need to be strong and get through it. So often, I have seen my humanity sit across the room and stare at me...reminding me that I can only be so vulnerable until the walls will naturally start to build after I realize how badly I've been hurt.
The next day, we walked over Eloise and a Penny to rescue home (our main home here at SCH). It took everything in me to look at the whole situation like "what just needed to be done". But I did and every now and then when I felt my feelings creep back in, I pushed them out and turned the light off in my heart. I walked away that evening to the sound of my 4 year old screaming louder than I have ever heard her scream as she watched us walk away from her. I left my baby in the arms of a stranger and chose to accept that they would not even begin to love her the way I do. And I didn't shed a tear. I didn't feel a thing.
For me, who is naturally a sensitive soul, a deep feeler and a definite cryer, I was surprised (and a little bit disturbed) by the way I became numb so fast. I have seen some real crap here and felt some of the deepest pain I have ever felt by living in this country and being apart of this work. And over time, I have felt myself go into "shutting down" mode more because I'm just tired of seeing it. I'm tired of feeling it. I'm sick of knowing that so much of what happens here is out of my control and I have to just sit back and watch it. I have trained myself to turn my feelings off when I know I just need to be strong and get through it. So often, I have seen my humanity sit across the room and stare at me...reminding me that I can only be so vulnerable until the walls will naturally start to build after I realize how badly I've been hurt.
Loving these children has been the most heart breaking thing I have ever experienced. Building this home from scratch has been one of the most frustrating things I've ever done. I have seen four children come and go through my house in 8 months. I have watched our family dynamic go from black to white. And just when I think we've settled in and we've truly become a family, the rug gets pulled out from under us and we have to start over.
I have seen the way this life has attempted to harden me. I have noticed the way it has tried to rob me of the very things that brought me out here in the first place- compassion, sensitivity, empathy. In some of the worst moments, I have feared that the hardening of my heart has actually taken place.
Nothing has scared me more.
The hardest thing I will ever do is to choose to stay soft. It will not be to have a child ripped away from me- it will be to grieve, weep and mourn over it. The bravest thing I will ever do is fight to keep the door open in my heart, willing to take more punches, even when its already mangled and broken.
Eventually, I let the tears come. Like a rushing river, I felt my grief bring me back to life. Tear the walls back down. Set me free.
Courage isn't about being strong.
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