Leaving

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Thoughts of leaving Deepa fill my body with sadness which leaks out through the meaningless tears forming tiny puddles on the bottom lids of my eyes. Again the same sentiments of last year are creeping through me. I feel like a traitor. I feel like I am abandoning her. I feel that I have not tried hard enough. I feel that I am not committed to her. I need to leave for a bit. The intensity of Kolkata has drummed through me, and I am not at my most productive. The sounds, the smells, the craziness, all that I love, also drives me insane. The inability to realise simple objectives, for rationality to prevail, makes me frustrated to the point that my words become shouts as I type. The abscess which left me unable to sit, walk or bend took too much energy, and although I feel great now, it was another challenge, which needs a little rest to recover from.

I have made the excuse to myself that I am going to see the south of India – where there seem to be many more projects for blind children. In the south there are exciting new clinics from Sight Savers International, aimed at the rehabilitation of blind children into main stream education, or at the sharing of essential life skills. In Tamil Nadu there is a famous yoga ashram for blind children. It sounds wonderful. I want to see it – I want to experience it. I want ideas of what is possible here in India, in Deepa's country of her birth. I want to add contacts to those I already have, and continue to bring fresh possibilities and potentialities to the options I am trying to help Deepa find for the dream of a future outside of the institution. But leaving Deepa even for a few days is tough – let alone for a few weeks. It will be harder to restart; she has made more progress in these past months; she has become so much more responsive to me than ever before - even in comparison to last years visit. But now I choose to abandon her, and abandon is exactly what it feels like. 

A dear friend wrote and to me with words which ran through my eyes, trespassing on the salty pool of my eye lids and then hugging me from inside. Her words triggered comprehension, and at the same time tried to release me from my self imposed 'guilt'. My friend wrote:

“I support you 100000% make the life beautiful for Deepa is a big challenge and you make it so well, do not forget yourself also if you want her to be happy.. and this is the hardest point to reach!! not feeling guilty by taking time for our self... gratitude and love are so important!!!”

My sponsor told me to look after myself, otherwise I would be no good to anyone, 'even to Deepa'. Their understanding and wisdom lunged deeper into my spirit. I am not living up to my own expectations. I am not living up to the expectations, that Deepa should have for me. But Deepa does not have expectations. She has never had control over anyone who comes and goes in her seven years of life. Abandoned by the parents she hardly had a chance to know. Abandoned for being blind, to grow up with the beautiful children around her who she will never see, and most of whom are unable to move or to talk, and those that can, who take her toys and fill her ears with their screams and shouts.

Volunteers come and love her and make her feel safe, and she rewards them with her trust. Volunteers come and love her and then so easily leave her.

I know I will be back soon, but I can not even tell her that. I can not tell her my plans. I can not tell her the research I have been doing on the afternoons which I have not come to work with her. I can not tell her how if she lets herself find words, her life will surely improve. I can not tell her that even though I will not be with her, playing with her and exploring with her that I will be thinking of her. Can not, can not, can not.

I feel her energy. I feel her power. I feel her beauty. I trick myself by pretending this intangible, invisible connection will mean something to her when I am not there to fight for the space for her to learn about and live in our world.

Thoughts of leaving Deepa fill my being with sadness, disappointment, frustration. Hypocritical tears.