As my summer in Ecuador reached it’s swan song I drug my feet in writing my last blog entry. I knew why I was hesitant: I loved my time in Macas, I loved the feeling of home at Hope House, I loved the kids at the orphanage and felt as if I’d been beneficial in a way I’ve never been professionally. If I wrote that last entry that could mean this particular chapter would be over. I missed all the loves in my life back in the Pacific Northwest and I missed my dog like crazy, but I wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye, not that anyone ever is. I know some wise people who won’t say it, they’d rather let someone else say it first.
I returned to Seattle. The school year started, I shared stories of my adventure with my students. I tried to tie in the lessons I learned with the hope that what I was sharing would somehow resonate with them. I sat with my grandmother in her nursing home room and we cried through my stories of kids at the orphanage and she was fascinated to hear about the traditional clothes worm. I told stories and showed pictures of my boy Maximiliano, Victoria, Dora and the other kids to anyone who would listen. I regularly missed them and hoped the were safe, happy and healthy.
The dream of adopting Max grew more and more unlikely to the point that it is just shy of impossible. Around November I started thinking of Macas less and less. I’d been genuinely sad and perhaps it was my mind’s way of forcing a little self-preservation on my heart.
Life almost moves on.
Despite protecting myself I thought of Max every morning over coffee thanks to a framed picture of he and I that sits in my kitchen (K.C., I love you so much for that gift!). One day I got a message on Facebook from my beautiful friend and employee at the orphanage, Diana. She told me that Max was finally walking on his own. Not only was he walking, but he’d fallen off of a wall in the yard at the orphanage and hurt his head pretty bad. Somewhere between the sadness of missing Max’s first steps and wanting to protect the sweet head I’d smelled so many times hoping I could imprint his scent in my memory I felt a little homesick. I missed Victoria who at the age of 14 was so patient with my Spanish and once we became closer she’d laugh at how horribly I’d botch words. I missed teaching all of the kids how to throw a football and countless hours of playing catch. I missed everything.
So I did a little research and discovered I had enough frequent flyer miles to go back to Ecuador for midwinter break. I could only go for two weeks, but that’s better than nothing.
But why am I going back? Just because I want to doesn’t mean that I always can. As I doubted why I was returning people asked me why I was going back. I didn’t really have an answer and I still don’t. I’m starting to think it’s the little things I miss so much.
Running into town with Silvia to snack on street grilled pinchos and staying up late chatting with Lisandro became the norm for me last summer. Learning new card games from Angel and Moises combined with a little smack talking quickly showed us that a language barrier wasn’t ever a problem. I didn’t realize it at the time but Hope House felt like home.
The dirt road up the hill to the orphanage became so familiar to me and brought an instant smile to my face and more spontaneous selfies than I’ve ever needed to take of myself (those are acceptable when you’re traveling solo, yeah?!). How I’m not going to run straight up that hill this coming Monday morning is beyond me.
As I write this I’m sitting in first class (chau to those frequent flyer miles!) on the first of three flights I have and three hours into what will be roughly 36 hours of travel when you add on a bus ride from Quito to Macas. I am amused that with all this travel I’ll only have ten full days there, but what the hell, why not? My life at home supports my urge to travel and volunteer and even more so I get to indulge in the friendships and family I have gained. I get to eat passion fruit the size of my fist and Silvia’s home cooking which is top notch. So many little things I’m looking forward to. Chicharrónes.
I think I know everyone at Hope House right now. The kids at the orphanage are sure to have changed. Diana is in Quito now, but she is meeting me at the airport tomorrow. Max is where I left him and I’ve come to realize he may not remember me. Regardless of what happens I get to go back and enjoy every second of the next chapter in this adventure in an Ecuadorian town that was so good to me.
And maybe I’ll have something to write as a last blog, but it’s not likely.
My Return to Ecuador 