Jennifer's Writings

Soothing

My house smells like Honduras.

For supper, I boiled red beans mixed with onion and garlic and made burritos with avocado and sour cream. Just like how I learned when we lived abroad. The trick is to soak the beans overnight. Any that float to the top should be tossed--a sign of a rotten bean or one that had a worm eating inside of it at some point.

I also check carefully for any rocks or little pebbles that sneak inside the bag pretending to be a bean. What deception!  I remember the time Shawn bit down on a bean burrito (baleada) in Honduras and cracked his tooth. He never did completely remedy that problem after repetitive trips to the dentist both in Honduras and the states.

I put the kettle of beans in my fridge after they had cooled off. Ready to reheat tomorrow just like the natives taught me. A kettle can last a week.

My house smells like Honduras tonight. And I like that it is soothingly familiar.

Simple Life

My lessons from Honduras are coming full circle.  The instructions I learned the first time around hold new meaning.  I am being taught again at a new level of understanding.  My training has taken on a double message.  Maybe I needed to learn each idea twice; once for the mind and then for the heart.

Life is simple.  Living life simply, frees the spirit. 

The moon is something to appreciate; especially when you can see its shadow during the daylight hours.  True friends remain true.  The green grass of the Honduran jungle comes in many shades of green, a magnificent contrast to Minnesota’s snow white world.  Candlelight is the best way by which to write.  A sleeping child displays the most peace. 

Some problems don’t have solutions.  Some questions don’t have answers.  Some answers don’t make sense.  Some responses don’t bring comfort.  Sometimes sense cannot be found, no matter how many times your mind winds around the facts or wrestles the details to the ground. 

Life is simple and complicated.  One does not exist without the other. 

Sometimes I cry without tears.
Sometimes I do not act logically.
Sometimes I am confused.
Sometimes I forget where I am.
Sometimes life is simple.
Sometimes life is beyond complicated.   

Concepcion de Maria

How does a child´s heart grieve?  In pure form.  With the purest type of love.  And I am discovering that no matter what the age, they do not want to let go.  No matter what the age we share this trait in common.  We never want to say goodbye.  No matter what the age our hearts are fragile - seeking to love and to be loved.   

When Shawn and I lived in Honduras during our Peace Corps service, we rented a small apartment from a loving, enthusiastic family with five children, one who is my name sake, Jennifer Maria, and our goddaughter.  Their only boy, Hector Miguel, was five years old when we lived in Concepcion de Maria.  He and Shawn were great playmates.  During my visit back to this special place, I was told that when the children heard the news about Shawn, they cried and cried.  Hector and Jennifer slept with pictures of Shawn for weeks after the tragedy.  Some days their mother would find them sitting alone in their room holding each other in tears.

This is the Place Where I am Most Wanted

Last night we shared a dinner with a group of various friends whom we met during our time serving as volunteers in Honduras.  We enjoyed grilled chicken kabobs, feta rice and vegetables, biscuits and pistachio salad.  The menu was devised by our creative Peace Corps friends, who since their two year service continuned to live in Honduras and are currently working with the Rieken Foundation, a non-profit organization deleloping and setting up libraries throughout Central America. 

I took a moment to share about Shawn and gifted each dinner guest with a photo of our family.  I explained how much the meal meant to me and with a broken voice expressed that I was sitting in the ¨place where I felt most wanted.¨ 

It is comforting to have a place that feels welcoming.  It is soothing to be surrounded by sights and smells and tastes that immediately and vividly bring my memory back to Shawn.  It is healing to know that I am in a place where we were both loved.  It was necessary for me to come.  If not for the physical gratification, at least for the mental pilgramage that will occur.  Each step taken is a complete challenge with each successful step affirming who I was with Shawn.   

Nothing in Life is Ever Perfect

Nothing in life is ever perfect.  This is what my Honduran friend, Rafa, told me today.  He was referring to Jordan and the fever he has had since we arrived in Tegucigalpa, the capital of Honduras.  We are planning a trip to the doctor tomorrow.  This may delay our travels to Concepcion de Maria, the town that Shawn and I called home for two years.  This is OK, as Jordan`s health is the priority and Honduras is known for being flexible, changing plans and slowing down.  Nothing in life is ever perfect.

I remember telling my friend only months before Shawn died how good my life was.  I was intrigued with the idea of how blessed Shawn and I were with each other and our children.  I saw the fortune for what it was and was appreciative for what I had, although I didn´t understand how my life could be so blessed, while others seemed to live with heavy struggles.  Nothing in life is ever perfect.

And then the day occured when Shawn was taken.  This day continues to be surreal to me.  It was a contented sort of day.  A normal, regular, loving sort of day.  It was a ¨wave goodbye and smile because we love you¨ sort of day.  It was a day that didn´t necessarily seem perfect but in the same breath didn´t seem imperfect.  It was a ¨no need to worry, you´ll always come home to me¨ sort of day.  It was a ¨now I know that nothing in life is ever perfect¨ sort of day.

Culture Shock

I forgot about culture shock; the entering into a foreign country and learning ways that are so different from our own, to the point where the body feels numb, unsettled... shocked.  I think after Shawn died, my body went into culture shock.  I entered new territory without my consent and ever since I have been learning rules so different than I ever knew before. 

There is the rule of being alone.  The rule of not being able to split our meals anymore at a restaurant.  The rule of not sleeping together in the same bed or any other bed for that matter.  There is the rule of sleepless nights where without trying the clock suddenly blinks 2:00 am.  There is the nagging rule that nothing can be the way it once was and the relentless rule that brags about how life has forever changed.  And above all else, I am beginning to learn that there is a rule of no return.  This rule, which has been long established in terms of the grieving world, is the hardest one to adapt to.

Honduras

Nothing feels right without Shawn.  I thought possibly by visiting our beloved Honduras that everything may feel better at least for a day.  But, as I suspected before I left, I will miss him wherever I happen to be and wherever I happen to go.  It doesn't matter if I am in Forest Lake or a third world country, he is not there and I miss him.

This void is too great.  Like the canyons of the Central American mountains, the valley is deeper than I can describe.  The depth is on a scale grander than I can comprehend.  And the worst part of all is that nothing can fill it back up.