I have been writing this particular blog post for three
months.
In my first few weeks in Paraguay, we as trainees were asked
to give self-presentations in front of the other trainees and training center
staff, paying particular attention to our recognized strengths and
weaknesses. As a strength, I sited my
resiliency in overcoming difficult times in my past and how with those
experiences, I had come to recognize that I could get through anything because,
“I had been through worse”. At that
time, I hadn’t had the wisdom to ask myself what if I was going to face worse while
in Paraguay; what then? Could I get through worse? In July, I received word
from home that my father had passed away.
The moment of that phone call and the next few months have been far
worse than anything I have faced before but I have to believe that I can get through this.
I’ve spent months deciding whether or not to post a blog
about the events and emotions following my father’s death and I have come to
the conclusion that to use this blog for its intended purpose, I should document my whole life in Paraguay, a
life that has been irrevocably altered by the past few months. I feel that I cannot continue writing about
Peace Corps service without acknowledging how my life has changed. Also, I use this blog to let people back home
know how I am doing. And with it I can
tell everyone, I’m okay. I’m not great but
I’m getting there. I am getting up every
morning and living and breathing and DOING. Finally, as I recognized through the support
of fellow volunteers, talking about my father’s death helps me to deal with it
and to not be handicapped with the feelings of isolation that are common to a
Peace Corps volunteer and astronomically more so in my grief.
The first few days following the call and my trip home, I
was taken aback at how supportive the country staff and my fellow volunteers
were. I found myself crying silly tears
of gratitude each time I got a text or facebook message from a fellow
volunteer. As soon as they had received
the news, PCPY staff got in touch with my closest volunteer neighbor that first
night and I can’t adequately put into words my appreciation and relief seeing
her bike pull up in front of my house just as the sun set knowing that she had
dropped everything to stay with me. My
host family was supportive without being overbearing, quickly making a bed for
my fellow volunteer to stay with me and giving me hugs and words of
encouragement but also the space that I needed. The country staff sent a car to pick me up
from site the next morning and take me to the office and then to the
airport. The trip home was long but
bearable as at that point I had reached a numbness that comes after the angry
tears have been spent. Also, I took
comfort in the knowledge that in a limited number of hours, I would see my mother,
brother, step-father and best friends.
How surreal it was to be returning to the US after almost
six months. In the airport in Miami, I
forgot I could flush toilet paper and spoke to the cashier at the coffee stand
in Spanish when she only spoke English.
Ironically, after two US airports and driving past the buildings and
traffic of Philadelphia, I didn’t feel any reverse culture shock until we
pulled into a Starbucks parking lot in a strip mall in a Philadelphia
suburb. I had a mild freak-out at the
sight of the fleet of SUVs and minivans and shopping bags but my cursing only
bemused my mother and step-father. When
we returned to my mother and step-father’s house, it was the sight of one
particular SUV that forced the reality of my situation to come crashing down
upon me. In the two days after my father
died, my brother had cleaned out my father’s apartment and moved his SUV to my
mother’s house. Every Sunday since my
mother, step-father and I had moved to that house when I was 16, my father had
picked me up in that SUV and we had driven to Church together. After seeing that car parked in the driveway
and realizing that we would never go anywhere again, I had to stop the façade I
had tried to keep up during the journey home- this was not a reunion with
friends, a vacation to the US or a trip home where I could pick up all the fun
“stuff” like non-stick skillets that makes other volunteers jealous. I had gone home to bury my father.
From the moment of receiving that first phone call to seeing
my Dad’s SUV through the following days of funeral planning, warm-hearted
embraces from friends and family whom I had missed dearly, painful hand-shaking
with strangers offering condolences that only made me feel more hollow, eulogy
giving and the legal ramifications following a parent’s death, I had aged more
than I had thought possible in a week. I
am so grateful for my family but for my brother, in particular, for helping me
through and for being so strong and handling the most difficult decisions and
duties with fortitude and grace. After
the first week of fulfilling the majority of my new and unsolicited adult
responsibilities, it was time to decide when I should go back to Paraguay. I will not lie and pretend that I never
entertained the question of “if” and not “when” I should go back. The first night upon receipt of the news, I
was grieved and shocked and I questioned whether going home would mean that my
service ended after not even being in site for 3 months. However, by the time my plane had touched
down in Philadelphia, I had resolved to return to Caazapá, Paraguay.
It was the hardest decision that I have ever made. For me, life in the Peace Corps isn’t
necessarily difficult due to bucket bathing, water shortages, missing
Philadelphia Eagles games and constantly trying to keep the baby goat from
eating my flowers and clothes. These are
inconveniences and, although they wear on me, the goat more so than anything
else, they can’t break me. What made
getting back on that plane so gut-wrenching was returning to a place where
people like me, but no one loves me. At
the time of my trip back home, I had only been living in Caazapá for three
months. I had made friends, formed
relationships and started projects but I was and still consider myself to be an
outsider in a place where most people live their whole lives, often only a
house or two away from almost all of their extended family. Every social interaction takes five times
more effort for me here than it does in the US.
There are barriers of language, culture and my status as an outsider
with which I contend during every new experience. I like my community and they like me,
too. I have a wonderful relationship
with my contact and I believe that I am on my way to creating a lasting impact
on the lives of several youth here. But
that is not the same as the support that I receive from the people back home whom
know me completely and love me because of it all/despite it all.
So why did I come back? The same reasons that I left the US
in the first place. I want to use my skills and knowledge to help the people of
my community lead better, healthier lives.
I want to learn a new culture and form relationships with the people
teaching me that culture. I want to
become a stronger person. I want to
better understand the world, not just my tiny corner of it. None of these things had changed with the
death of my father. If anything, I am
now more driven to have a purposeful life.
I recognize how short life is and I want to make sure that I take the
opportunities available to me.
Further, my family misses me but no one needed me to stay. It is true that my life would have been
immensely easier if I had stayed in the US but I do not believe that it would
have been better.
So I’m back. I’m
working in the school and with some community groups and trying to become less
of an outsider with every new and awkward interaction. I sometimes get overwhelmed with grief at
the thought that I will never see my father again but I remember how much he
loved me and how much he wanted me to have a purposeful and happy life. So that is what I am trying to do here in
Paraguay. I came back here to have a
full life and I think that my father would have been proud of that.