Love Out Loud

“I love you.” Three words which, when said in sincerity cannot be heard too often; but only when actually demonstrated to be sincere and genuine. In too many relationships and situations, we forget to seek the best for the other, becoming too absorbed with ourselves. Then, how can those words be received with trust and believed?

It’s been a whirlwind of a two months, a bit surreal and yet all too present. I spent the month of August at home in Michigan, attempting to be present to my family and friends – and for the first two weeks I felt like I was in a dream state, searching for energy to function in such an ordered and organized society. Let me explain to you that this experience and life feels so removed from my life in the States that it takes days for me to realize that Haiti and the United States are actually on the same planet, let alone only a few hundred miles from each other. My body and mind were screaming for a chance to process this past year, and to discern whether and for how long I should continue to work here. The heaviness and sheer intensity of the last twelve months, coupled with my disbelief that a year actually passed so slowly and so quickly at the same time, caused me to pause and simply attempt to breathe once I got home. The modern conveniences of life in the States were a welcome gift, and yet the ever-present amazement at the overwhelming surplus of ridiculous “stuff” we Americans apparently “need” did cause slight nausea with occasional moments of dizziness as I re-entered the mall and supermarkets near my house. More than 300 types of cheese in one store? Fruit and vegetable spray – captioned “the soap you can eat,” even the menu at Starbucks (don’t get me wrong – I indulged in several fabulous Coconut Soy Mochas, thank you very much!), were causes for a step back and a deep breath. I did very much enjoy my delicious burger with goat cheese on my first day at home, and pretty much every meal I ate – the variety of foods and drinks is just plain stunning. And the shoes! I did not know that I loved shoes so much as when I had been away from the world of fashion for a year. I found myself looking longingly through my mother’s design magazines, wishing for walls to paint fabulous colors and for walks through the vintage stores to furnish a new place. These distractions served a two-fold purpose, I can look back now and realize.  I do cherish the freedom and stability of a life in the US, and when I am called to return there, I will have a wonderful time setting up house again and creating a cozy place to live and to welcome friends. But yet, I also know now what freedom is present in a world with very few possessions, where the emphasis is placed on not things and materials and the latest fancy phone or car, but on the moments spent with children and friends in relationship, moments which cannot possibly be bought or held in time by the amount of books or the most comfortable couch. 

Mangos! So messy and so delicious!

My awesome pupil Stevenson, who remembered all of his letters and numbers!

 It was wonderful to re-connect with friends and to hear their vocal support of my life and service. It is all too easy to forget that I am remembered and loved from thousands of miles away when I sit sweating in stifling heat and wonder if the internet is functional anywhere today, when my new roommate finds other work and the circle of volunteers grows smaller, when the same children are living in a hospital room labeled “Abandoned” for months at a time, when temporary tents are removed to make way for parking lots, when daily mass is most definitely a funeral for tiny bodies and the stench of death has permeated the entire chapel, when new security measures are present at the hospital due to escalating crime, when cholera spikes after Tropical Storm Isaac, when cancer patients cannot receive their medications due to delays in deliveries, when the groups of boys lie prostrate in front of the UN gates awaiting the soldiers’ leftover food, when hit with the total chaos of the Port-au-Prince airport upon arrival. To sit holding new babies only seen previously in photos, to be touched and listened to by hands and hearts that know me from outside this tiny island, was a massive blessing that I just wanted to somehow package up and bring back to Haiti with me. It is one thing to hear or read those three little words, but yet an entirely different experience to sit with those who say them and be tangibly loved, understood and pursued.

The two weeks since my return have been equally as surreal as my visit home. After only a few minutes in-country, it is hard to remember that I spent a month Stateside. The visits with friends, the weddings, the fundraising parties, seem years away already. Part of my dread in returning was that re-entry is like a blow to the chest – it hits hard from the outset, with the harsh sun and the blatant poverty, with the emotions and fatigue of my fellow volunteers, with the desperation which we work to empower our brothers and sisters to overcome. However, the endless stream of massive hugs and kisses and questions heaped onto me by the children who are overjoyed that I kept my promise to come back, serve to ease the sting a bit. Erline’s huge smile as she envelops my legs in her arms. Little Stanley’s constant presence every moment I am at St. Louis. The well-meaning staff which tells me I have come back fatter. The delicious corn meal with bean sauce that is served for lunch. The hospital staff as they stop me and tell me it is so good to see me again, that I am remembered by them, and as they ask after my family and if I had a good vacation. The concerned and gentle reprimands of more seasoned volunteers who tell me change is inevitable and to not be afraid: these are all serve as remedies as well. And as I sit in my house after a massive deep-cleaning of my roommate’s now empty room and unpack the groceries from a Sunday supermarket trip, where goat cheese (mmm!!) and filters for my new coffee maker were successfully found, as were bananas and yogurt and sweets for the kids, and I listen to the fantastic mix of current American music hits so lovingly put together for me, I am amazed that only a few days have gone by since my arrival.

Within the next few weeks, we will be moving to new volunteer houses, about ½ mile away from the hospital, and which are yet to receive electricity and running water. The tents that stood for nearly three years to house short-term volunteers have been taken down. My current house will soon be turned into additional hospital space for the overflow of chronic patients. I am now splitting my time equally between the Angels of Light Program and the Oncology unit at St. Damien, working with an awesome team of doctors and nurses, and dangerously at risk of falling in love with a whole new group of little heroes. I absolutely love being back in the hospital and am being inundated with new observations and thoughts as we begin coordinating a Palliative Care program and I sort through the differing cultures of the American setting and the Haitian patient and family. One of the things I have always loved about the developing world is that it is nuts and bolts – the basics at work, with limited resources but unlimited chances for relationship and critical thinking. This culture tests even the best assessment skills and challenges the provider to seek thorough answers with minimal information. There is no quick computerized result here, no available x-ray posted within minutes of its completion. If narcotic pain medications have been donated, there is a chance to control severe pain; otherwise it is the basics and the comfort of a mother’s or caregiver’s touch which must suffice. The staff here is stalwart, strong and amazingly resourceful, creative and enthusiastic but firm and determined. The kids have strength that puts mine to shame, smiling through unimaginable pain and enduring the daily blood draws and chemotherapy effects with minimal tears. They come from all over the country, having been referred from place to place before finally learning that there is a cancer treatment facility in Haiti. 

Do not mess with a boy and his beach ball.

Jessica and Sabine

 The FWAL nurses and I will soon moving into a much larger clinic space at St. Louis, with more autonomy and space to use. Oh – a quick aside – the three of them did a superb job of running the place in my absence, which was not a surprise to me but was still very gratifying to see on my return. They are anxious to learn more from me, and I am channeling my inner educator as I plan seminars for the nurses, staff and kids. My amazing pupil Stevenson remembered ALL of his letters and numbers and wrote them out beautifully for me at my first request, bringing me to tears. The kids ask me over and over again how I left and came back, unable to conceive that I took two planes to go home and that the US is such a large country that I did not see any of the American volunteers that have visited before. They sit with me and stroke my arms and legs, loving me out loud. Stanley has started singing, “All the children love Brigitte, and Brigitte loves all the children.” I pray that both he and I will know this to be true every day.

In this age of sweeping stereotypes and hatred-induced, prejudiced statements, with combative politics, violent attacks, and quickly drawn conclusions based on hearsay, I wonder sometimes if we have forgotten how to love. In the selection of scripture readings at one of the weddings I attended, Love was defined, and though I had heard the verses countless times before, they struck me more deeply as I heard them. Witnessing the poverty of the unloved stirs the spirit. I am afraid that in the Western, stimulation-overloaded world, love is becoming an afterthought. As I sat with my friends and family and laughed at shared experiences, as I attended the wake of a cherished daughter who chose to end her life because she believed she was unreachable, as I held friends in hugs not wanting to let go, as I watched new love grow and spoke with understanding souls, as I attempted to relate stories of Haiti in just a few minutes, as I let go just a bit and dared to puncture the calm façade that I somehow feel I must maintain, I had to choose to believe those words. But this is one of the most wonderful aspects of working with my Haitian children. They always hope, always persevere, always believe, and they bear the hardship of life while standing in determination and expectation that tomorrow will be better. They love out loud, actively chasing after life and vocally expressing their feelings. That is how I experience love here – in the woman who insisted on carrying my heavy box as we walked together, in the doctors who stand determined to care for their end-stage cancer patients as compassionately as possible, in the nurses who tell me they are noticing the good trends in our diabetic patient’s blood sugars, who rejoice when another one of our kids completes TB treatment, who excitedly ask me when I will start to teach them more and are equally as excited to share their time and workspace with me. It is in the little blind boy, previously terribly malnourished and timid, who now refuses to let go of my hands when I visit him and laughs when I tell him he is handsome and healthy. He strokes his new stuffed dalmation puppy and asks if I will come back tomorrow. It is in the little girl who bravely circles the hospital floor twice, with her arms grasping my waist, and tells me it doesn’t hurt. And it is my new challenge to myself – to love out loud, to drown out the noise of anger, misjudgment and impatience, to check myself when a negative comment is about to escape my lips. Perhaps if we consciously choose to actively and genuinely love, patiently, kindly, gently, wishing for good, compassionately and hopefully, we will live and demonstrate to this world that love can be louder than hate, even defeating the darkness altogether.