leaving on a jet plane

I can't tell you how many times I looked at the room.
I swept.  I organized organized children's books.  I wrote everything I could down in the little book that I'd decided to keep notes in.  I washed all the sheets.  I selected the clothes that I would leave for whomever wanted them.
I looked around- was it done?  Did I have absolutely everything I needed?  Did I leave anything that I'd regret?  Did I clean all the mirrors?  Are the international plugs in an accessible location?

I don't know very many songs on the Uke, and even less on the guitar, but I got the idea to learn "Leaving on a Jetplane" after I saw a friend sing it to this girl who was decided to go on a mission.

And my bags were weighed. In kilos and in pounds.  And I'd taken them down the steep steps.  And I was waiting for the girls to come home.  I was stuck in the front room, just waiting. I think that was the worst part.  I wanted so badly just to be at CICFO and spent the last couple hours with the kids, but I couldn't leave and then they'd have to bring my bike back, and they wouldn't know where I was.  Well, I suppose they would, but they'd have to bring me back to get my luggage in that traffic and that that's no fun. So I sat and journal-ed.

And the song played in my head (now would be a good time to pull it up on YouTube).
And I was standing by the glass doors.
And I had taken pictures and videos of the house so I'd remember it....like I could forget....but you never know.
And I thought back to earlier that day when I'd been at CICFO.  Some of the kids were going to Choir practice and so they didn't think they'd get to see me on my way to the airport.  And as I left, or they left, they said "Goodbye Sister, I love you." and I said "I love you too, I'll see you tomorrow." without really even thinking about it.
No Aria, no you're not.
You may not even see them 'later'.
You may not see them until you see them in heaven, even if you do come back to visit.

And of course, I can't visit until I'm married.  Or have a kid.  That was the last one I heard.  "You have to come back when you have baby."
It's a safety thing as well as a culture thing (the husband not the baby-- I'm not sure about the baby comment).

Sunny and Yaya came back from some wedding festivities and went to change.  Botevy came down to say goodbye, but that was as far as she got since she was still recovering from her surgery.   I hated to wake her up, if I had known she was awake I would have gone up to say my goodbyes instead of having her take the steps.

It was so late when I got there.  And the kids had school the next day.  So many of them were asleep.  But we sang and prayed and hugged and played-- and took a few pictures.

There are so many things that could have gone better.  There are ways that I could have been more effective or efficient.  There are things that, if I could go back, I would have just asked about beforehand.  There are times when they let me down and I let them down.  There were moments when I was frustrated and drowning just a little bit, because I'm human.  There are concepts that they didn't get and mistakes that I didn't get to fix all the way.  And they mean everything.

They sang the primary songs that they'd sung when I very first met them.
I sang "Aloha Oe", because I'm from Hawaii and I knew we were all going to sing 'God Be With You Til We Meet Again' together once I was done.
And we did hugs again.  And Phanith showed me the Nativity drawing that he'd finished.  And Chakrya gave me a letter.
And we piled in the car.  And part of me didn't want them to come.  I didn't want them to watch me leave. I felt bad that not everyone could go with us.  And the rest of me was so glad they were there.
The airport is rather close.
There is a large open area right outside the check-in lines.  Only people who have a plane to catch are allowed in, and they take one person with them to push bags.  The rest of your party-- and everyone has a party-- waits outside and watches you to through the line.
The line takes forever.  It almost always does.  But when you're through and your luggage is stowed, you go back outside and say goodbye again.  I know this because we did the same for Natalie and then McKae, and I saw so many people do the same.
And then you walk in, and you wave through the glass doors, and they watch you go up the escalator.
And then you get the last look.
And then you can't see them anymore.

I don't know if or when I'll be back again.
Oh, babe, I hate to go.