It was so much fun. A potluck of Indian goodies while sitting in a big circle and talking and laughing. One of the girls is a really amazing singer and was singing these beautiful, old Spanish songs about saying goodbye--adios--which of course, prompted all the women to start crying. And then the singing led to more singing which led to dancing which led to flamingo dancing which led to a Grease reenactment (in broken English) which led to laughing which led to the hotel manager having to tell us all to go to bed.
It was a good night.
Saying goodbye to so many of these people I started work with was interesting. On one hand, I was so so sad to say goodbye to the comfort of their faces every morning at work. On the other hand, I went to bed filled up with this feeling of giddy happiness. There are so many people coming through the volunteer community here every week, day. These ones who are leaving now are proof that I might find new friends any morning over a cup of chai. New ones arriving everyday.
It was particularly emotional saying goodbye to Raquel--my 'sheety' friend--and her husband Carlos. They are absolutely one of the most wonderful couples I have ever known. I want to be them some day. As we said goodbye and kissed both cheeks in a perfectly European way, Carlos grabbed my shoulders and said with a huge grin, "Thank you for loving us!" And then he insisted I come and visit him and Raquel in Spain. And learn more Spanish.
Check and check.
This exciting night was a much needed end to a very, very hard day at work.
As I finished up the laundry in the morning, my last with Raquel, I walked inside eager to start my day with the patients.
I walked into the ward and saw, for the first time since I began work, a dead body. One of the women had died only two hours before our shift began. I froze. Literally. She was a very sick woman, I think she had AIDS. I didn't know her too well. We'd only interacted a few times. She slept most of the day. She died in her sleep.
And there she was, lying there in her same bed I had seen her in the day before, but now she was wrapped up in a sheet, resting on top of a cheap, plywood stretcher.
It was the weirdest feeling. Seeing her sent a funny shiver all through me. But I knew I couldn't just stand there. Everyone else was doing just the same as they always do. There were beds to be made, pills to be handed out, breakfast to be served. Other volunteers were frozen as well. A few people cried and covered their mouths.
Just as I resolved to turn around and begin work, Churi, one of the young autistic girls at Prem Dan ran up behind me and tickled me--our daily ritual first thing in the morning when we see each other. She is giggly and sweet and cries sometimes when I try and make her take her big, pink calcium pills.
Later that day an ambulance arrived to take the woman's body to the crematorium. Everyone watched her be carried out. As the ambulance drove away, a Sister grabbed my arm and asked me to help her. I had to wash the mattress of the now empty bed. I took it out back, sprayed it down, soaped it up, dried it off and back to the cot it went. I felt really unqualified to be handling the mattress. I didn't think I had any right messing with a death bed...or making it a new bed for that matter.
Yesterday a new woman was brought to Prem Dan. She arrived by taxi with two little nuns as escorts. She clearly needed help in many different ways. The open bed was for her.
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