The day I got a puppy here in America I thought about the day that I would lose her. In my mind, that day is 12 or 13 years from now. There’s white all around her eyes and she’s laying before a fire, tired and comfortable, having been loved her whole life.
Life has shown me lately not to put trust in a future you never have control over. I lost my cat, Suntala, a lot sooner than I thought I would. I planned a whole 27-month service with her and even imagined her accompanying me back to my returned Peace Corps life in the States. Now, after only 7 months, I’m back in America with a closed service and without Suntala. No one I met in my village was dependent on me, nor should they’ve been. They will all continue to live a glorious life despite having met me or not. In a few short months, I’ll be a passing memory. I was a newbie, a foreign, impermanent person. Even if I had been able to serve out my two years that description still would have been true. Two years is nothing compared to a lifetime. However, it is sad and I let a lot of people down. We would have learned from each other and that missed opportunity is simply heartbreaking. Unlike the people I met in Chalwe, Suntala was dependent upon me. I got her when she was very young and I created her world, placing me in the center. I babied her and we were each other‘s best friends. I spent nearly every day and every night with her, us side-by-side. The kids in my village called her “umwana”, translating to “child”. Meaning, they knew her as my child. They knew how much she meant to me. I wrote an earlier blog post dedicated to my cat. I wrote that Suntala hopes I will always come home to her. The reality now is, I’m missing. I didn’t come home. It was abrupt and there was no goodbye. I don’t know where she is now or how she is doing. The grief of the end of my service, the end of my time in Zambia, the end of a future I saw for myself is felt through Suntala. I believe this physical powerful emotional connection to my cat is the only thing allowing me to feel or comprehend the entire loss of a life I once lived. The grief of not being able to watch her play with the kids who came to my house for two years straight. To watch her grow into an older, wiser cat. To watch her explore nature and hone her instincts. To watch her as seasons change all around. To watch her, sitting in the window, waiting for me to come home from school every single day. To watch her watch me dance in the house, late at night, after a good day. To watch her lay in my lap and be the happiest cat. I lost those things and she lost me. ~~~ I have two more blog posts that were in the works while I was still in Zambia. The first is extremely ironic now, but I will finish it up and post it here soon. The second could take me a bit of time to wrap up. Once I do, that’ll be the end of blogs from my time as a PCV in Zambia. Sending 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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