When we left India two weeks ago, our friend Rodda was about
to have her baby. It had been due three
days earlier, but hadn’t arrived yet.
The pregnancy had not been easy, and we were worried for her. Rose visited her at the hospital and brought her food just an hour before we left. Our best intuitions tell us that the next few
weeks and months are not going to be easy for her either.
Two, three, four days after we left, Rodda and her baby were still on my mind. But as the first week and then the second passed, I realized that I remembered her less and less. Soon I only thought of her once every few days.
There are so many others. Akil Bhai and his family who we lived with, Shahmim who had just found his business non-viable and was trying to get new work, Ali waiting to start his 12th year of school, Mohammed hoping that his back gets better soon. The kids working in the shops, the men and women and children begging on our streets, the toddlers sorting through the trash for recycleable scraps.
I haven’t forgotten them. And I won’t forget them. And I am still praying for them. But as long as we are not living there, I remember to remember them less and less often.
Two, three, four days after we left, Rodda and her baby were still on my mind. But as the first week and then the second passed, I realized that I remembered her less and less. Soon I only thought of her once every few days.
There are so many others. Akil Bhai and his family who we lived with, Shahmim who had just found his business non-viable and was trying to get new work, Ali waiting to start his 12th year of school, Mohammed hoping that his back gets better soon. The kids working in the shops, the men and women and children begging on our streets, the toddlers sorting through the trash for recycleable scraps.
I haven’t forgotten them. And I won’t forget them. And I am still praying for them. But as long as we are not living there, I remember to remember them less and less often.
No comments:
Post a Comment