Four Months

Today marks four months to the day that I have been in Trinidad. I've been working at the clinic for about two of those months, and finally do feel like a familair face to the patients who come in frequently. I can't believe the time has gone so quickly--I made an appointment for someone on Friday for June. Laughing, I told him I couldn't think that far into the future. I know I still have more than half my time left in Trinidad, but I can't help thinking how immanent the end is now feeling. Before going home for my "vacation," it felt as though my time stretched endlessly into the future. Now, it feels like it's all slipping away. I keep wishing time would slow down like it did my first two weeks in Cambodia, where each day stretched on and on and yet never felt slow, only luxurious, like lingering in a warm sun patch. (Maybe though, lighting a fire isn't a bad thing, considering I've yet to start my interviews, and I have med school orientation Aug 3.)

I am so blessed. Every day I walk in and see the ocean glittering in morning sun. Wednesdays, when I get up early for CD4 day in the clinic, I can watch fragments of the sunrise. Evenings, I watch it set from my window, watch the sky burst into color and then watch it fade into the silence of twilight. I came back to church, and so many told me they missed me in the short time I was gone, and in truth, I missed them as well. It's a comfort and joy to know I am so loved.

The little things make my day. Today, I saw a woman I kind of consider my "first patient," if only because I took care of her on a day she came in real sick and we admitted her, and I visited her each day she was in the ward, and she came to trust me (and I feel like I know more of her medical history than the doctors did at the time). She greeted me with a squeal and a huge hug, which we both needed. I almost burst into tears to see her husband, who a month ago had to be almost carried into the clinic by two people and promptly set in a wheelchair and who seemed out of it and yet told me he recognized my voice, walking with just her assistance and talking and smiling. The way he took my hand when I greeted him told me he remembered me. The two of them have gotten so much better; it was so lifting to see. On Friday, two women were talking about their experience and allowed me to listen. Today, I found a woman willing to let me write her story and bring a human face to HIV/AIDS. I wouldn't trade those moments for anything.

Being Home

I am at the tail end of my ten-day stint in the US, probably the only time my feet will touch US soil between the beginning and end of my grant (we are only given two weeks of "vacation" outside the country). To be totally honest, I wasn't sure how the trip would be, only because I am not even close to the same person I was when I left for Trinidad three and a half months ago. For the first time, I am really evolving totally independently of anyone I had known. Even at Marist, I still talked weekly to my parents, came home every few months. Coming to Trinidad, I knew no one. And I grew.

As it turned out, the vacation was lovely. My mom had taken the week off from work, my brother was home from school. We visited family. My 90-year-old grandmother played the harmonica for us at Christmas and made sure her blind friend felt at home and ate well. My (almost) seven-year-old cousin's little girl (cousin once removed?) greeted me with a huge hug and a question of "where have you been?" I got another tremendous hug from a surrogate grandmother, one of my dad's wonderful clients. I caught up with a few wonderful friends. For the first time in years, we spent New Years by ourselves, relaxing and watching Woody Allen. It was nice to be home, to spend time with my family, who I love more than anything.

One thing that this year has shown me is that I have a home in many places. At first, the question was--what do I do now? Where is home, then? And then I realized I really should just shut up and be grateful--finding a home and a family everywhere you go really is an incredible blessing. I am home in NH, where I grew up, where my neighbors have watched me grow up and my parents will always welcome me with love and open arms. I am home in NY, where Maria and Richard have adopted me into their family, and where I first started to grow up on my own (and where I have many good friends who helped me along the way). I am home in Cambodia, where I have nine older brothers and work that fulfills me. And I am home in Trinidad, a home I have made for myself by the grace of God, where I have friends who love me dearly and take care of me and an apartment I found on my own. And these things don't end when I leave. My parents, Maria, Dominic and Annie--they will always be there for me, no matter where in the world I am or who I become through those experiences. I don't know I could find a more powerful or important blessing anywhere, and to those who love me and who I love--you inspire me and give me strength daily.