Writing this book constantly gives me moments to relive and every time that a memory hits me particularly hard, it surprises me. Today I wrote about saying goodbye to a fellow volunteer and more so about having to watch as my daughter suffered the pain of having to say goodbye forever to someone she’d truly grown to love. I wrote and I cried and I felt that same guilt all over again. I suppose it’s good for me and for the writing, adding a depth of reality to things.
And sometimes I wonder if the reliving of the moments is part of why I’ve embarked on this endeavor to write my story, our story. I never want to lose those lovely moments when my heart was filled with love for my children, for the orphans, for the country. But to remember those, I have to remember the sad times, the scary times, the mother-guilt that pervades so much of what I do. I have to feel those moments again, too, as I write. I don’t like it, but I think it has to be done.