We have been home for a week. It, like every thing else we have experienced in the past 5 months, was a whirlwind. Sorry there have not been more frequent posts. We needed time to unscramble our minds and emotions.
I don't know if anything could prepare us for what coming back home would be like. Surprisingly, once the shock of how different, neat, clean, orderly, beautiful, green, affluent, well-manicured, surgically-enhanced and Botoxed Dallas is wore off, the hardest thing has been talking.
I never have enough time to tell someone about how I am doing or to tell them about Haiti. It is a conversation best had over a long meal. Or drinks. Or drinks and a long meal, with coffee afterward.
I also find myself lecturing and monologue-ing. About the time I am 10 minutes into a soliloquy about Haiti, usually around the point I find myself recalling a dead body or a truck bed full of paralyzed quake victims, I become really self-aware. Like, why the hell am I telling this story?
This happened today when I realized Katie and I were telling these stories to 5 youth over pizza. Poor kids. They had know idea that when they asked, "Where were you during it", that they were going to get a full frontal assault of death.
However, that was the reality of Port-au-Prince. Death touched everyone. We saw it.
One thing that humbles me is when total strangers introduce themselves and tell me they are praying for us. I never say what I want to. I always mutter something awkward and shuffle on quickly. But what I want to do is just grab their hand, maybe even hug them, and say how their prayers sustained me while I was in Haiti. I want them to know I felt their prayers on me like a blanket and they are just as responsible for me continuing on in Haiti as anything else.
So to all the people I have mumbled awkward answers to in the last 6 days: I know you are reading. Let me apologize for having the social skills of a slug and tell you thank you so much. And please do not stop.