Hard Things

I couldn't even read Chicken Soup for the Mother's Soul because it made me too homesick.  I tried reading The Diary of Anne Frank, which I brought with me to specifically start and finish on the trip, but it was too dark and too unsettling for me.  I read voraciously, rereading all of Shauna Niequist's books.  I had to do anything, light and fluffy to distract myself from where I was.  

I have thought about Uganda every day since being back.  On the drive to the JFK airport, the hospital on the side of the road made me jump in familiarity.  In the shower at the hotel, I had a sudden flash of gratitude for running water.  At home, when my hot water ran out, I remember splashing water on my legs to shower, out of a pail, while balancing and checking for spiders in the shower.  The details of the Amsterdam airport are fuzzy, but full euphoria because running water!  outlets!  fresh fruit!  chocolate!  The smell of gas from the roasting pans for a catered lunch made reminding me of walking in the village, back from a long day of public transportation.  

For the first week, I couldn't sleep at all.  I don't know if it was the time zone change or the unfamiliarity that kept me alert throughout the night.  I remember wanting to take Benadryl, just to sleep and forget how many days I had left.  I would wake up every morning with my internal clock counting down...9 days...5 days...1 day.  My jaw would be sore and tender in the morning from clenching my jaw all night.  

I don't have an eloquent ending or life lesson, other than my resiliency inspires me, in a current state when I feel exhausted.  We can do hard things and we are stronger than we think.