This week marks one year since being evacuated. One year of grief, trauma, and immense heartbreak. One year of overcoming, rebuilding a life, learning to smile again, and moving on. On the phone to a friend earlier this month, I said to her, "I think I'm finally moving out of the stage of anger and into one more of sadness". To be angry for a whole year was tiring, but the anger also fueled me. If I couldn't have that dream, I'll find another. I reached my lowest point halfway into this year of loss. My dog's eyes held onto me, when my cat's paws could not reach me. Things change for fuck's sake, it's time to find strength.
This week really hallmarks the sadness of leaving Zambia. I had numbed myself for so long against the loss. I've had people say to me, "You were only there for 9 months". What does that mean? You can't get attached to a life in 9 months? Have you never fallen in love? The sadness humbles me and I long to honor it. Here - I'll show you. This is the river I lived by, the faces I saw, the food I ate, and the place I love.
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Author's note:Hi, I'm Helen. Welcome to Lifted ~ I write to lift myself up. Archives
March 2021
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