and all the leaves fell at once.

I found out, the day before, that Boubocar was going back to Niger. Boubocar was one of two favorite neighbors who sat on his stoop all summer long and made me feel safe when I came home at night. He was witty and, more often than not, hilarious. And when I hugged him goodbye last Sunday and wished him well, I knew I would never see him again.

At church on Wednesday evening, Pastor Cedra told me that Ha Sin and his family left. They are the dear people that I helped resettle. Preparing for their arrival, collecting donations, and organizing volunteers took over my life for part of last year. I prayed so much for this family and care more about them than my limited Thai could communicate. And now they are gone. And I missed the phone call that would have notified me in enough time to say goodbye. I ran into the four oldest children a week and a half ago when I was planting trees on Derry Street, which reminded me that it was time for me to pay them a visit with a sack of rice, and now they are gone. And I am pretty certain I will never see them again.

Aside from feeling sad (as selfish as it is) for not having adequate time to process and say goodbye to these people, I feel guilty. The last time I spoke with Boubokar, he was describing how he felt confused and restless and couldn’t sleep at night and didn’t understand what he was doing in America. I told him to come over for tea sometime so we could talk, because I was heading out the door to be somewhere important, embracing my culture of rush instead of his people-centered culture, and tea never happened. And never will. I feel guilty, too, about Ha Sin’s family because for weeks, I felt bad for not having checked in on them. I chalked it up to (surprise) busyness and vowed to make more time in my schedule to be available to them specifically (not the refugees I naturally spend more time with). And I didn’t. And never will.

I’ve heard these things: Don’t feel guilty. It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have helped them more. You couldn’t have made it easier for them here. It’s better that you didn’t let their problems consume your life. Don’t give yourself more credit/blame than is due. I am sifting through these things, but I don’t know what to believe about how I feel. I, in general, feel horrible and an unnameable sense of failure while these things, in actuality, are good reminders that I am not a hero and I can’t save/protect people. And to stop trying. I don’t blame them for acting on the restless, rootless spirit that accompanies many newcomers to our country. I recognize and identify with that spirit, which I think is what draws me to them most. We are all on some sort of journey, trying to be where we feel loved and supported most, where we have the most love and support to offer. Still, I miss them. And I wish I hadn’t let my self-absorbed days change my priorities and lead me to this.

I hope Boubocar finds what he is looking for back home in Niger. I hope Ha Sin can find a job to support his family. I hope that Sarajahn can find somewhere to take ESL classes and enter into new ways of adapting to the United States. I hope that SaKayDah and DwaHayDah can ease into a new high school and find some good friends and teachers to take them under their wings. I hope that Ah Dan and JoWaRiah can be children. I hope that JeMiKah can get the special help he needs to walk. And I hope the precious baby can learn her native language and appreciate her native culture someday, too.