Fabie

It is interesting to me, how the heart can choose.

Without any direction, without any logical explanation, throughout life there are those my heart just knows, no questions asked. 

And here I was, surrounded by tons of lovely children, with whom I laughed and played, whose hands I held and whose faces I touched.  

And yet out of them, only a handful: the ones my heart chose.

When I first encountered her, I thought:

She's a tough nut, not the type to show her cards.

So you can imagine my surprise the next day 

[and even every day after that] 

when she planted herself by my side,

as interpreter and companion.

I discovered that her toughness 

was made of an incredible strength,

but also of peace,

 and [even silly] joy.

Thirteen she was; she knew a thing or two. It was she who shared the first moment with me, as we looked with gravity into each other's red and tear-lined eyes, of understanding:
This will soon be over.

And it was she who destroyed me,
when all was said and done.

She stood on my left, her arms around my waist.
Her face, pressed deeply into my stomach, during the long good-bye.

Others stood all around as we made a slow procession to the van, my arm around her, my other arm reaching to shake the hands of those who came near, to cry "see you again!", to wish me a warm "good-bye!"

And as the good-bye's faded to a close, as the others one by slow one climbed into the van, I felt her ribs against my side.

Shaking.

This, my strong strong girl, sobbing.
Just. Sobbing.

With my now free hands I rubbed her back, I stroked her hair,
I broke my heart above her head, holding her for her own dear life.

This was deep and ancient grief, pouring itself out.
There was more to this grief, than me.

Eventually, I was the last one still standing.  And we had to go.
So I looked around, for a woman to take her,
to hold her until her tears poured out.
The orphanage mother saw me, and said something to her, kindly.

She tore herself away from me,
and disappeared into the crowd.

I climbed into the van. Slowly, we drove away.
And I saw her, among those gathered to watch,
standing with one of the older guys,
laughing as if nothing had ever happened.

Toughness once again written
over every of her features.

And I thought:
How many times will this child agree to open her heart,
only to have it break upon goodbye?

And as we drove the long way back to our hotel,
I wept for her.

[Still; I am weeping for her still.]