Loss

  So, before I begin, I promise, things are going very well for the most part.  I will hopefully have a much happier post in the near future.  But right now, I needed to write this for my own sake.

  The Peace Corps has many challenges.  That's part of what you sign up for when you volunteer to be a PCV.  Living in different environments, smaller houses, a climate you're not used to, different food, a new culture, less technology, maybe no technology, you're gonna poop in a hole (http://tinyurl.com/6bbc9f6), language troubles, lack of personal space, the water, etc.  They call Peace Corps "the toughest job you'll ever love," and while I can say for certain about the second part (being less than a month into my service), I can attest to the first part.  However, while all those challenges I've listed make the job tough, one of the toughest things about Peace Corps is that you have to face them alone.  Sure, you have the staff support network, maybe a VSN, and you made friends during PST and with people in your town.  But you also left behind all your family and friends.  You are isolated.  And it can be tough at times.  However, what makes it even more difficult is when someone back home dies.

  A few people already know.  My family, some of my closer friends back home and here, and Peace Corps HQ.  A few days ago, I walked into my house after work.  Carrying my laughing host sister in one arm as my host mom joked about how I always seem to have energy, I felt my phone start vibrating in my pocket, and soon the sound of my ringtone was filling my ears.  I put my sister down and went into my room to answer it, noting that it was from my parents' home number.  Well, no biggie.  We haven't talked, other than by e-mail lately.  Maybe they just wanted to check in on me.  Yeah, it was weird timing, since they are never home on weekdays round noon, but who knows.  I answer it, and my mom proceeds to inform me that my grandpa had died a couple hours earlier.  After a few more exchanges with my parents, we decided that there was really no point in my coming home, since making it back in time for the funeral would be impossible, and I have responsibilities here, so leaving would only set me back.

    The truth is, the reality still hasn't sunk in completely.  Yes, I'm sad.  Yes, I'm a little different.  But I haven't really had any time to dwell.  This weekend will be the real test for me.  The day after my phone was constantly going off, with co-workers, people from the Peace Corps office, and the couple of friends here I'd opened up to checking in on me.  But the truth was, I had a class to teach and a youth group to help get started.  I had work to get done.  So, rather than helping, a lot of this just made it harder, forcing me to dwell on the pain when I really had things I felt were more important to take care of right now.  There will be time for grieving later, but my learners need me now.  But throughout the next couple days, things kept getting harder and harder, and I wasn't sure why.  It wasn't exactly sorrow, which surprised me.  It wasn't until I got an e-mail from my dad, telling me about his eulogy and how hard it was and how hard things hit him and my brother when it happened that I realized what was going on.  The reason things were getting so difficult was because I was so far away.  While I had wrapped my mind around the fact that I would likely not see my grandpa again, given his age and health, and had said goodbye to him before I left knowing it would likely be my last, my family had not had that mentality, that acceptance.  That, I feel, honestly helped me not break down.  But that realization also made me aware of the fact that I was not there for my family.  I was not with them at this tough time.

  From my end, I wasn't completely sure who to talk to.  Talking to HQ really wasn't what I needed.  I don't feel I need a grief counselor, though we'll see after this weekend.  I know that I have a number of people from PST I could turn to, but the last thing I needed were people trying too hard to help me or pitying me or anything.  I did have friends I knew would be able to give me my space while offering the appropriate level of support and just talk.  My host family has been great.  Knowing I love to cook, they got me stuff to cook stew with some super fresh (still sort or bleeding) oryx or springbok (my host mom said one, my host dad said the other).  The siblings, who haven't been told the details because they are so young, have still been very supportive and friendly, playing games and actually giving me some space sometimes when I'm trying to read.  My co-workers who know have been very kind, accommodating when I just needed a few minutes alone in my office to clear my head between classes, taking meetings for me when I need a second to catch my breath, and grabbing a drink after work the other day.  The little bits of normalcy definitely help.

  So has writing.  As some people know, a lot of Peace Corps volunteers write books about or during their service.  I've decided to work on one, though it is not really an autobiography or a journal of my service or any of that self-focused stuff (for that, you have this).  Instead, I am taking an idea that's been floating around my head for some time now and using my service and the Peace Corps model in general to write a book discussing the need to change how we look at foreign aid and development.  Because it's more than just helping other people.  It helps ourselves by opening markets, creating trade partners, developing cultural exchanges, and fostering a better relationship between the US and the rest of the world.  Indeed, foreign aid and international development, when done right, can do more for homeland security than any amount of defense spending, since it's a lot easier to defend yourself from people who do not want to hurt you in the first place.  Yes, a lot of my ideas incorporate Tom Friedman (and I will be sure to site appropriately), though I also feel his analogy is a bad one.  The world is not flat, it's just smaller.  I can't guarantee this book will be any good.  I certainly can't promise it won't have any parts that are self-serving (in fact, I'm almost positive it will).  But it will be a reflection of my thoughts, and I feel that's a worthwhile project.

  To be honest, this has not been easy.  I haven't exactly had an easy time these first few months, with my co-worker dying during site visit, my bag issues early on, and some other personal issues I won't get into now.  And losing a loved one is never easy, but it is especially tough when you are so far away from the people you love and care about.  My advice for anyone interested in Peace Corps who might be reading this would be to spend time with any elderly relatives before you leave.  Because they might be there when you get back, but 27 months is a lot longer for them than it is for you, and you might not get another chance.

  I realize this posting is a bit all over the place.  If I wanted to, I could hold off on posting it and re-work it to flow better.  But I feel that it is better that I publish it in my current state of mind, to give a real reflection of how I am feeling.

  So, with all that said, I just want to take a moment to thank those who have been there in this difficult time.  Because while the reality may not set in completely until I return to the States, and can't visit him, the truth is that it hasn't been easy.  So to my friends back home (or overseas), especially Courtney, Amanda, and Meaghan, who have given me encouragement these last few days; to my friends and PC staff and co-workers here, to many to name, though Ria, Emily, Kellie, Alicia, Denise and Steve especially, who have given me someone to talk to and a support structure to make up for the one I am separated from; and to my parents, for reminding me that it's okay to hurt, but that it's more important to keep going; thank you all, so much, for all that you have done and for just being there, and for not letting me consider, for even a second, the option of leaving.  It's good to now there are so many I can turn to for support..But life moves on, and there is no better way to honor the dead than to keep living.  People keep telling me to take time for myself, but the truth is, normalcy in my daily life seems to be helping me more than dwelling, and I have a responsibility to my community, y youth center, and to myself.  So, Grandpa, RIP.  I will still be sending the postcard I already wrote, as a final goodbye.  But now, it is time to get back to work.  And despite your reservations about my leaving, I can't help but think you would've wanted it that way.