Lessons in Goodbye

When Molly was a tiny little girl, we signed up to sponsor a Compassion child.  We requested a little girl her age.  For the next couple of years, we went through a series of 4 girls, each leaving the project after a few months.

And then, between Molly's summer of kindergarten and first grade, we were given Nancy.  Nancy was just a bit older than Molly, but in looks her total opposite.  Molly had fair skin and long, thick blonde hair and blue eyes while Nancy had dark skin and eyes and a shaved head.  She was a stranger to us then.  But not anymore.

Ever since then, Nancy has been our Compassion child, and we were long-distantly connected to this orphan from Kenya.  We followed her school progress, the death of her grandfather, political unrest in her country, the endless adding of cousins to the household.  We sent her pictures of snow and Lake Michigan dunes, baby Anna and then big girl Anna, Molly's violin, and our dog Biscuit.  The communication is always a few months off, and her school breaks at different times than Molly's, adding a strange sense of timing to our relationship with her.  Still, once when she asked us to please come visit her, I considered how we could come up with $10,000 for our family of 4 on a grad student budget to pull that off.  She is always concerned about us, wanting to pray for us, asking God to keep us safe. This child has no idea how safe our lives are; I can't even imagine the Divine perspective on that situation.

This morning when I got around to opening the mail retrieved last night,  I first opened an envelope stamped "Important message about your sponsored child."

We were being informed that our sponsored child had unexpectedly moved out of the area and was no longer in touch with the Compassion project. If she ever came back to the project for some reason, we would be notified immediately.

WHAT?! This had happened years before, a few times, but I didn't think this would ever happen with Nancy. Worried,  I called Compassion as soon as it became business hours, and was informed that the family decided Grandma could not take care of all the kids anymore, and Nancy was moved to her aunt's home.

"So there's no way for us to say good-bye to her?" I tried really hard not to sound angry.

No, unfortunately, in this kind of situation there is no way to say good-bye.  It happened quickly, the family made the decision, and they were out of Compassion's reach. But it's probably a better situation for Nancy.

How do you know that?! I wanted to snip at the operator.  If it's so good, why didn't her aunt take her when her parents died? Or taken some of those cousins in that house? Or taken her when the grandfather died? But honestly, I was powerless, Compassion was powerless, and worst of all, Nancy was powerless.  I can only hope that she wanted this and that this really is the best thing for her.

The lady said they were sending us a packet for a new child to consider.  I said we would definitely be wanting to sponsor another child, probably around Anna's age, a girl.  Where she is from doesn't matter.  The lady said, "Oh, this little girl is from Kenya too, and she's 7. And she's well ... she looks kind of different.  She has no hair and she's wearing a big holey sweater. You can always ask for a different child and this one will never know you were considering her."  

Who the hell rejects a sponsored child because of the way they look? I almost said that. Instead I said, "I'm sure we'll take her." The lady partially redeemed herself and said once we saw those big pretty eyes we surely would. Then she told me Nancy was probably grateful for all we'd done for her, and I did say, "It wasn't much." She assured me it was to Nancy.  Was it? I am not convinced. 

Because in these situations, when you have to close a door without saying good-bye, you always wonder if you did enough.  You clearly see that you had more to spend on the relationship after all, and the change in your pocket is sickeningly heavy. We didn't write her enough, I think.  She didn't know how much we loved her.  Maybe we didn't love her enough.  And then you make promises that you'll do better next time.  You'll do a better job keeping in touch.  You'll let people know how you feel.

We can't say goodbye to Nancy.  It will be difficult to tell the girls.  They will cry.  What we can do is welcome another girl into our hearts, whether we sponsor her through Compassion or find a better way for us. Hearts stretched by love and toughened by loss are able to handle more, right?