I had a dream I was back. Back home. In Haiti.
The Hope House kids had written a song for me and when they sang it I cried. Roseberline told me that since I had left she had been in darkness but now that I had returned I was in the light (as if any six year old would say that, especially an extremely sassy one).
Miseline was there too. And Stevenson. And all of them. Micherline gave me a hug but told me she still hated me, but even that I loved.
I remember hating myself because I didn’t know all of their names anymore. I was overcome with guilt and hate for myself because I didn’t know my own family’s names.
I had forgotten how to speak Creole and I was ashamed.
I remember crying a lot, because they had been waiting for me.
I remember asking Brad to think about hiring me.
But in the end, I was home. Sitting on a bench outside the Hope House, waiting for the Friday night movie to start surrounded by the brothers and sisters I have always prayed for.
Despite all the advice I receive about being a hundred percent where you are… I think part of me is still there. Still walking into that kitchen ready to teach class. Or lying on the floor in the girls’ dorm letting the tiles cool my skin while we do hair and read books.
Clearly my sub conscious is more torn up about not being there, with them, than I have let myself be.
