You will only regret the things you didn't do.

February 13, 2012

I actually received a call today from the Mali Country Officer.  He apologized for taking so long to get back to me and wanted to let me know that he would contact the country director and talk about my case.  I never thought I'd hear from anyone.  And never thought they would actually consider my situation.

I have made a decision, here and now, that this was to be my last effort to try and make good my wrong.  If this does not work out in my favor I need to finally accept my decision, it will take awhile to overcome my feelings of regret but I'm sure I will, and move forward with my life.  Wallowing in guilt and self pity because I made a bad decision does  not do anyone any good.  I've made plenty of bad decisions in my life and have survived all of them.  You will only regret the things you didn't do.

February 21, 2012

I heard from Peace Corps today.  They suggested that it would be possible for me to reapply to Peace Corps again, but at this time it would not be possible for me to return to Mali and finish out my service.

"It's hard to accept, but you can't change the past. You can't go back and manipulate things to the way you wanted them to happen. Because life'd be meaningless and boring and just not worth living. But you can change the future and that's a beautiful thing about life. Yes, you will make mistakes. And yes, you will have bad days - but as long as you let the past go, you'll have such a gorgeous and bright future ahead of you. Knowing that things were meant to happen. Knowing that each day you will learn something so that you keep growing to be a better person. Life is like a rope, twined in all its complexities and yet weaved into one marvelous stream that you have the chance you use something amazing from. So grab hold of it."

I'm going to CHINA!!

Regrets...I've had a few

I always tell my boys and family and friends that you can only regret the things you didn't do.  Never regret the things you did do.  Wasted time, effort and energy.  Unfortunately I don't think, at this time anyway, that I will ever not regret having left Mali early.  But I do think I'm ready to move on from there...or here.  I keep saying "if I could do it over", "in hindsight" (I don't think I've ever heard a more useless term) and my favorite "if I could just go back in time".  All of these things are impossible and pointless.  It is our mistakes and imperfections that make us who we are.  We are not meant to go back and change things...for better or worse.

That being said, I gave one last try to trying to find a way back to Mali to finish my service.  We can't go back but sometimes we can fix our mistakes and rectify our regrets.  I sent an email to DC to the Mali Country Officer.  Basically pleading my case on why I left and that I'd like to go back if at all possible.

February 2, 2012

My name is Clare Francavilla.  I am a RPCV (sort of) having served in Mali.  I was accepted as a volunteer and received my orders in October 2010.  I left San Diego for Washington DC on January 31, 2011 and landed in Mali February 2, 2011.  One year ago today.  It was the greatest most proud day in my life.  I had been planning this once in a lifetime opportunity for about 15 years just waiting for the right moment where I was in a place in my life where this would be possible.  Children grown and in college, financially unburdened and mentally ready to “move away from home”.  Because I do not have a degree I had spent the previous 5 years doing volunteer work with International Rescue Committee and Alliance for African Assistance as a Resettlement Volunteer working with refugees.  I worked as paid staff for American Red Cross in disaster relief and volunteered with them in disaster response. 

Due to extenuating circumstances both at my site and home I felt forced to leave Mali after just 8 months…in October 2011.  There were some issues at my site that I had spoken to different PC staff about on a few different occasions that never got resolved.  I believe with some more effort and badgering (which I am usually very good at) I believe that in time these issues would have worked themselves out.  But when I received a couple of phone calls from home with issues that made me feel that my only option was to leave and take care of my family I let PC know that I needed to leave as soon as possible.  I would be happy to go into more detail regarding these issues if necessary.  

You know what they say about hindsight…  Had I have thought better of it and with a clearer mind instead of my “hair is on fire” attitude I surely would have done things differently.  And although I am most capable of helping others through times of need and disaster with a clear mind and a good plan when it came down to my family and my disasters I jumped the gun.  Although both situations at home were dire at the time, fortunately things are working out well.   My wish is that I would have thought more clearly up front and taken a month or two leave, come home and took care of the issues here and then went back to Mali and my village to finish my 27 months.  But I did not.  I now find myself wishing there was a way for me to finish my time.  All the PC staff in Mali although sad to see me go was very understanding.  I know that it cost quite a bit to train and send a volunteer to their serving country.  I left early and feel very badly, unfinished and unaccomplished.  I stay in touch with the matrone and my homologue in my village.  I do know that there is a new volunteer in Bougoula.  For this I am grateful.  I would have been disappointed to know that they suffered because of my personal issues at home.  They are wonderful people and deserve the chances that a volunteer in their village could offer them.

I’m sure after all my babbling you are wondering why I am writing you.  Since I have returned I have thought of little else besides being able to return to Mali.  My goal in life was to volunteer and serve in a developing country.  I am not finished.  I sought out different avenues, spoken to different organizations both here in the states and in Mali to find out other ways to return to Mali.  Until this morning I never thought about contacting the PC to find out if there is any way I could be reinstated and return to pick up where I left off…albeit in a different village.  I am willing to pay any expenses incurred for my return.  Plane ticket, any training you would deem necessary and although my Bambara has suffered a bit I’m sure with some practice that will also pick up where it left off.  I will make up the months I have been back home tacked on to the end of my service.  I know this is a long shot…a very long shot, but there is one thing that I always taught my children is that “you never know if you don’t ask”.  The worst thing that could happen is someone says “no”.  I’m sure it seems that I am begging and pleading for a do over…I assure you I am.  It can’t hurt, right?

Again, Nicole, I know this is a long shot but it hurts my heart that I was not able to finish my work and time in Mali.  Any consideration you can give this will be much appreciated.  I will look forward to hearing from you.

Clare Francavilla  

I wish I would have remembered "to go outside and let Africa save" me

Another blog piece I did not write.  Thanks Michael Waid.

The Real Peace Corps

I feel as though I’ve done somewhat of a disservice throughout this blog. I’ve painted a picture of my time here that isn’t precisely accurate. I’m an emotional person, a romantic, optimistic to a fault. I like extremes and superlatives. I exaggerate in an attempt to draw the reader in, and to make sense of things I can’t make sense of.

I romanticize this experience as a function of my personality but also as a coping mechanism. Peace Corps is really hard.

So I want to write about the real Ethiopia. And the real Peace Corps experience. That way, if a future volunteer reads this, they understand what to expect, and won’t hate me for only showing sunset pictures and kids holding hands.

So what should you expect?

Nothing is the best answer. Expect nothing and you will be pleasantly surprised. Every experience is different. My friend Jon lives 80 miles away. Our lives could not be more different. His house has no floor save for the mud it was built on. He is lucky to have power one day out of the week.  My sitemate Dave lives 200 meters from my house and our experiences are entirely different.

So here are some observations, a look into what I do, and an idea of what your potential service will look like.

Peace Corps is defined by a strange dichotomy. Freedom and containment. I wake up every day with a blank slate. I can do anything. I can do nothing. And while the possibilities are only limited by my own imagination, the ability to do as I please is corrupted by a number of social, political, and cultural practices.

Case in point: Most volunteers assume they will run to let off steam in their new country. However, running here is a cause of stress more so than a release. You get stared at as a foreigner here. These are stares that know no shame. Stares that you can feel without seeing. They are honest and curious stares, but can crack even the kindest of spirits. But a foreigner in shorts? Running? That is unheard of. Running here means being followed by hordes of children, the last thing you need when trying to let off steam.

I want to export coffee to benefit local farmers and provide an organic alternative to the Starbucks mess we have back home. The bureaucratic structure here has destroyed those dreams. Disappointment is part of the PC experience.

Doing something like the Peace Corps will be your lowest of lows and your highest of highs. Highs that shatter your previous world views.  You will feel refreshed, walk in a forest and quote Thoreau. The lows can last so long that you need a fleeting moment of existentialism just to make it through the rainy season. Well, that, and a ton of movies. You will consider going home. You will count down the days until you leave. You will count up from the day you arrived.

“I can’t believe we’ve been here for a year.”

“I can’t believe we’ll be here another year!”

You will understand yourself, question yourself. Compare where you came from to where you are. I have days when I miss America. I have days when I loathe it. Why do people care about Charlie Sheen and Amy Winehouse? How many marines died last week? How many kids in the horn of Africa died of hunger? I can’t even imagine dying of hunger. When I’m hungry, I eat.

But I eat strange food. Ethiopian food is unlike anything else in the world. Sometimes it is delicious, but most times it is very mediocre. Other times, it is so incredibly bad that I consider burning down every plant that grows whatever the hell is in ‘gunfo’

Don’t try gunfo.

Universally, Peace Corps volunteers crave food. I have dreams about it. Vivid dreams where I belly flop into a bowl of ice cream off of a hot fudge brownie diving board. Sushi. I have a long distance relationship with Sushi and we are not communicating well.

As volunteers, we love to complain. We joke about our poop and our pooping locations. We laugh about smelling bad.

We smell bad.

We yearn for hot showers. But I think it’s just for show. Any volunteer, more so than food or showers, miss people and places. You will miss friends and seasons. During your service, you will be alone on the Fourth of July, Halloween, Thanksgiving. You will miss your family, your really hot girlfriend, and the contextual clues you associate with fond memories. I know what the Chesapeake bay feels like on thanksgiving. I can feel the football, and taste the sweet potato pie. I know what Glebe Park looks like, the green asphalt and the smell of cut grass.

You will be stared at 24/7 365. I understand what it’s like to be a good-looking girl at a frat party. Stay strong ladies.

You will develop an eerie sense of calm. I’ve spent 75 hours in the last two weeks on a bus. The DMV will be a breeze now. I’ve found new and embarrassing ways to entertain myself. I could watch paint dry and be perfectly happy.

One of the great things about Peace Corps is you have a massive amount of time to become a better person. The best advice I can give is to try and do something everyday to improve upon yourself. For some people this is writing or reading. For others it is teaching English or working out. Learn an instrument or paint. Do whatever works for you. You will stare at the wall. I stare at the wall a lot. I’ve had every thought someone can have. Probably twice.

Transportation completely sucks.

I just got out of a bus with 12 seats on it. There were 25 people on it. There were two chickens and probably 20 kilo’s of rancid butter. Here’s a quck letter:

Dear Ethiopia,

It’s ok to open the windows on the bus. I promise you won’t die from the wind. I promise it’s not that cold. Currently, sweat is running down my lower back and into the danger zone. My sweat is sweating. Fresh air is nothing to be scared of. Tuberculosis is. As much as I like saunas and the smell of chicken feces, can we please crack the window’s for 2 minutes? I will love you forever.

Yours truly,

Michael

There is no average day.

Last week, my Tuesday was crazy. I had a meeting with the tourism office about making them a website. I taught a man how to make guacemole and tortillas which he will sell in his store. I played basketball, added a layer to a clay oven and worked on the newsletter I am writing for Peace Corps.

The next day? I slept in, watched a silly amount of the show ‘Dexter’ and checked my fantasy baseball team while the internet was up. Yeah, I’m cool.

There will be times when, despite your pictures of you hugging little kids, you just want to tackle one of them and scream, my name is NOT,

“you you you!!!!!, give me money!!!!!!”

In America we ask for the time. Here, we ask for the month. It’s the most obvious difference. The pace of life here is slow, methodical, cyclical. Everything takes a long time. If you aren’t a patient person you will become one.

Life here is completely different. It is another world, lost in space and time. It is hard, and the little annoyances can manifest themselves into a black cloud. They certainly will, but it is important to make note of the small victories and the little moments. When I open my eyes I am reminded of why I am here. Just when I think a kid is running up to me to ask me for money, she tells me that she loves me and blows a kiss. But then I get on a bus and start crying. I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere with a busted engine. It’s getting dark, I have a chicken in my lap and personal space at this point is a distant memory. People are yelling into their cell phones, begging me to speak to them and take them to America. Oh and the only food in the town by the road is Gunfo.

Remember in times like this to take a deep breath. Peace Corps really is a roller coaster. An exhilarating and scary ride that completely sucks and totally kicks ass.

And when you are feeling down, just remember to go outside and let Africa save you.

Couldn't have said it better myself

This post was not written by me, but when I read it I though it spoke for most Peace Corps Volunteers.  Since I could not say it better myself I thought I would just post her blog for the reading...Maya Lau

Volunteer life bursts with cultural faux pas, fruitless projects and second guesses. For two years, I felt like the joke was on me. Even on my best days in Senegal, the sudden scream of "toubab," a taunting word for foreigners, reminded me that my cheerfulness was jinxed, my presence perhaps unwelcome.

In West Africa, I confronted the toubab version of myself, a self previously foreign to me that was lethargic, cynical and at home with failure.

For a long time I hesitated to admit that I felt incompetent as a Peace Corps volunteer. I felt that if I expressed my suspicion that I was inept, it would confirm criticisms that the program itself is irresponsible and presumptuous. I signed up largely because I saw myself as a go-getter and I wanted a challenge. I have a childlike loyalty to getting things right; I lack a cleverness for bullshitting. Yet these traits, from which I had previously derived strength, became the source of my immense heartbreak.

I did extra work in my demonstration garden only to find out later that agriculture agents resented me for it. I had lengthy, optimistic conversations with a village chief about starting a community garden only to discover that I misread his reaction and that he was, in fact, against the whole endeavor.

When a project faltered, I wondered if I should blame the cultural difference or my language skills, my lack of expertise or my accidental impropriety. I never knew for sure.

And yet, seeing my confidence unravel was helpful. Maybe everyone needs a period in their lives when they barely recognize themselves.

The story that Peace Corps volunteers like to tell -- and Americans like to hear -- is one of urgent and awe-inspiring work. Americans like to feel that at least someone is out there fighting all those incomprehensible African problems.

This narrative is too simplistic.

As the Peace Corps celebrates its 50th anniversary, some still find it hard to put a finger on what exactly the program achieves. There are both quantifiable yields, like number of wells dug and trees planted, and unquantifiable gains, like the intimate bonds volunteers make with people all over the world.

One benefit of the program that is never trumpeted (and likely never will be) is that it produces a group of young Americans who understand failure.

Americans, especially the variety who join the Peace Corps, are raised to believe that hard work pays off. We come from a place where the phrase, "We'll meet tomorrow at 5," means, "We'll meet tomorrow at 5" -- where you put a stamp on an envelope and it gets delivered.

"Failure is not an option," according to the locker room poster likely brought to us by the same people who birthed "Impossible is Nothing." Americans are immature when it comes to honestly accepting failure and maybe that's why so many of us lack the emotional depth to make sense of it.

We all have failures, yet we bury them in the folds of our pasts as curious gaps in our résumés and cryptic replies to direct questions. If we are unable to emerge triumphant, our failures eat away at us.

My Senegalese comrades are less brittle. They admit freely that their lives are full of fiascoes, delays and disappointments.

When I asked locals in Pulaar how work was going, I didn't often hear: "Oh, just fine!" Instead, the response was a more honest, "I'm trying, little by little." It seems to me that growing up with unpredictability has better equipped the Senegalese people to persevere in the face of real obstacles.

The same barriers Senegalese people manage to climb over regularly ended some of my projects. When I tried obtaining a grant for a women's farm, the land rights had to first be legally transferred to the women themselves. While the paperwork lingered in a government office, I foolishly kept preparing for the project that would never be, blocking off months in my calendar that I would devote to it. Meanwhile, the women moved on, continuing their own, smaller version of the farm they wanted. They knew not to rest their hopes in government offices and the men who shuffle within them.

I don't mean to give the impression that Peace Corps volunteers don't accomplish anything. We do a lot of the things other aid organizations do, but our version is less grandiose: We hold small-group trainings on childhood nutrition and organic pest control. We help small businesses grow, often through a series of one-on-one interactions. Our hyped-up expectations of success are often quashed--we learn quickly that smaller is better.

I survived two years in the Peace Corps. My proudest accomplishment during my time in Senegal, one that can't be expressed on a résumé, is how much I grew up.

I now know that no occupation, despite my generation's obsession with passion-following, is without compromise or disappointment. And I know that failure, despite its negative connotations, takes practice.

Moving on...not so much

It was one year ago today that I landed and put my feet down in the country of Mali in West Africa.  A dream come true.  Something that I had planned for almost 15 years to join the Peace Corps and live in Africa and now I’m here.  Unbelievable.  How many people get to say they lived their dream??!!

Unfortunately if anyone is still even reading my blog I went home after only 8 months.   While there I saw issues that came up in my village as irreconcilable.  I had complained and spoke to PC staff on several occasions and felt as if they weren’t doing anything about it.  Then issues came up at home and my first response was “it’s time to go home” and I left.  Now here I sit and all I’ve been able to think about the past couple of months is why did I come home?  I spent the better part of the past 15 years thinking and working towards nothing else but getting to Africa…AND I LEFT.  This has left such a void in my soul.  A void of unfinished work, unaccomplished change and unfulfilled dreams. 

I have been in touch with several NGOs both here and in Mali that have staff (both paid and/or volunteer) in Mali trying to get back.  Although Mali wouldn’t be my first choice to go back to that’s where I was sent and that is where I feel like I need to finish my time in whatever capacity.  Thus far I have not been able to accomplish anything and maybe it’s just not to be and I should just move on with my life, but I’m finding it very hard to move forward.  

I am trying one more avenue that I hadn’t really thought of before.    I’m going to contact Peace Corps and find out if there is anything I can do to be reinstated and sent back.  A new volunteer has already been place in my village of Bougoula.  So even IF they did consider it I would be placed in a different village.  I all but begged and pleaded in my letter to them to let me go back.  I haven’t finished and closed out my blog yet because I can’t seem to bring myself to admit that I’m done.  Not with this adventure…not yet.  

We don’t get many do overs in this life.  Usually we don’t get any.  But second chances are not impossible.  Of course in hindsight if I could go back in time and do it over again I would.  I can’t go back in time but hopefully I may be able to do it over again.  I this doesn’t work I am willing to admit defeat.  I screwed up and I need to take responsibility for that and move on with my life.  I have an alternate plan in mind.  I have a dear friend that has been living and teaching English in China for the past 5 years.  She has invited me to come and stay and she will help me to get work also teaching English.  I think I might do it.  We only pass through this life once.  We don’t get second chances so when you have the opportunity to have an adventure we should hold on with both hands and go for it.  

I will first go to Mali to visit.  I miss my PC companions and I miss my Malian “boyfriend” Mamadou.  I miss him more than I thought I would.  I'm sure some of that is because we can't be together and some of it is absolute affection for him.  Sometimes life is not fair for sure.  We still talk at least once a week and text at least 5 times a week.   I will visit them for a while and then move on to China and live out a different dream.  We are entitled to more than one dream in a lifetime, right??

The fate of lovers...

I’m sure I should start looking for a job right away, but I feel like I need a few days off. A few days to catch back up with family and friends. Let them know I’m home. Put out there that I’m looking for a car and a job. Helpful hints are much appreciated.


October 14, 2011
I’ve been home for just over a week. Oddly enough I’m feeling a little melancholy...homesick if you will. Maybe things didn’t turn out the way I had wanted and maybe I wasn’t 100% happy but I was fulfilling a dream of mine. I was having the experience of a lifetime. I was living in another country, with new friends (american and otherwise), learning a new language and living in a culture so far out of the comfort of most of our boxes...I was living in AFRICA!! For goodness sake who gets to do that? How many people get to live their dream? How many people get the opportunity, again good or bad, to live in another country for a time? I was doing it, and I left. I left early and not accomplished much of anything. It has been harder coming home then it was leaving. 

Most people don’t know this as I didn’t make a big deal about it there or to my friends and family here, but I had a boyfriend (I hate using that word at my age, but what else is there...male friend...LOL) in Mali. He is Malian, I won’t divulge his age as I don’t want to set myself out there as a “cougar”, he lives in Bougouni the city that I would go to on the weekends to get food, recharge my rechargables, talk to family and friends and relax with other english speaking persons. He is an English teacher in a small village about 80K from Bougouni towards Bamako...putting him that much further away from the village that I lived in. But it is summer and he was home (Bougouni) every day until the first Sunday in October when he moved back to his school village (he left for his village the same day that I left for Bamako to start my journey back home). Once he does that he will only return to Bougouni to visit with his family the last weekend of the month. So even if I was staying I would only see him one weekend a month. But, at least I would still be in the same country with him.

I went to the post office one weekday that I was in Bougouni to pick up a couple of boxes. I didn’t know they would weigh so much. It seems like such a long way back to the house when your arms where full. Just when I thought I’m never going to make it back a guy walked up to me, oddly enough that spoke English, and asked if I needed help. Of course I need help. My arms are falling off. So he took one of the boxes and walked me all the way back to the transit house. His name is Mamadou. I was so grateful.

A few weeks later, in July, when we had to report back to Tubaniso, the PC training camp, I took the bus into Bougouni where I would spend the night and then leave with other volunteers in the morning. Because we were going for 2 weeks I had my carry on suitcase and my backpack. Of course it was well over 110 degrees. As I’m dragging this stuff down the street here comes Mamadou on his scooter (vespa type moto that everyone drives in Mali) to the rescue again. Do I need help? Of course I need help. So he put my suitcase in front of him and me behind him and we’re off to the house. This time he stayed and chatted for a few minutes and then we exchanged numbers so we could be text friends and maybe hang out a bit here and there when I was in Bougouni. This is the story of how I met my friend, Mamadou.

He is handsome, funny, young (hehehe) and he speaks English. What more could a girl ask for? We started texting back and forth right away. He said a couple of things that made me think he wanted to be more than friends. Being old enough to be his mother I thought it appropriate to nip that in the bud and let him know that we would be better to stay friends because of the above age difference. He seemed OK with that. But I would see him here and there when I visited Bougouni and then thought, “what the heck, if he wants to date an old lady who am I to argue”. Thus blossomed our short, fun, interesting, heartbreaking relationship. I say “heartbreaking” because of the sad feelings when we finally had to part ways. If I stayed our relationship would not have progressed much further than it already was. For goodness sake...did I mention I was old enough to be his mother?? Not to mention once a Malian man always a Malian man and Malian men and American women should not be any type of long term relationship. They are so archaic in there thinking...from making sure the women they marry are virgins to thinking it’s OK to hit their wives if they are not behaving properly. They may not all do it but they do believe it’s OK to do. I’m old enough to have a relationship and move on. I’ve done a lot of that over the years. I guess the difference being I never left the country so there was always a chance if I changed my mind... I didn’t think it would matter much to me. Apparently I was wrong.

For the most part Malians are not affectionate people. I wasn’t even sure who was married to whom in my village. The men and women don’t even talk to each other. I was never sure who was the mother to which children...or is that there grandmother...or not even related. The adults show no affection to each other and there isn’t much love and hugs or kisses with the children. Who belongs to who?  But Mamadou was a little different.  He would text me every night in my village and tell me he is "looking forward to seeing me", "I miss you"...he even came to visit me in my village one night.  Boy that was the talk of the town. 

We spent my whole last week together before I left...and he left.  Mamadou is an english teacher in a village about 80K from where he lives.  Once he goes out there when school begins he only returns home one weekend a month.  So we were both getting ready to leave only when he returned home that once a month I would not be there to see him.  We had a good week.  We spent every night together.  Then finally came Sunday morning.  It was time for him to leave for his small village and for me to leave to spend then next few days in Bamako until my departure date.  Saying goodbye was harder than I had imagined.  How do you let go of someone knowing that chances are you would never see that person again.  Again, I knew our relationship would never go any further but it did not make it any less painful.  I cried and he got teary eyes (more unusual Malian behavior).  He told me don't cry, don't cry.  Everything in life happens for a reason.  Then he left. 

A few hours later I received a text from him.  "Hi my baby.  Please do not weep.  It has always been the fate of lovers that they may part.  It is through you I learn a deep sense of love.  I never forget.  I love you. XOXOXO"

My homecoming

SURPRISE – October 6, 2011
In hindsight maybe surprising everyone wasn’t the best idea. I had to wake up my roommates to surprise them. They were so happy to see me but I’m sure they were not excited about the fact that they stayed up talking to me for an hour before heading back off to bed. They are going to be tttiiirreeeddd at work tomorrow.

Then I had to wait until the next day to see either of the boys. The original idea was to try and set it up so we could get Loreen and Randy and both boys in the same spot at the same time. Once I realized that was impossible, between the time I would be arriving and the boys work and school schedule. I was feeling bad now. I should have just arranged to have them pick me up at the airport. But what’s done is done. So then next morning I went over to were Josh is living and my friend called him to tell him to come outside. Being my crybaby he immediately started crying. We hugged and cried...he did say he was hoping when the time came that he wanted to pick me up at the airport. Oh well...again, in hindsight... We could only spend a few minutes because he had to leave for work. After we got Jarrod to meet us down at Starbucks at the Santee Trolley Station. I was walking through the parking lot towards him. When he saw me he looked around as if trying to figure out if he was on candid camera. His first words were, “You are so F’n skinny.” Nice... It was a good surprise all around.

They are excited to have me home to say the least. I think me being gone was harder on them than it was on me. I’ve been the person they have relied on their whole lives up until now. And although some would say they are old enough to take care of themselves, I don’t think children are ever old enough to not need the support of their moms. I know nothing would make my life just a little easier if my mother was still here to call when times got rough, to call when I needed a little help with some cash, to visit whenever I wanted to and just to know she was always there for me. Right where she was supposed to be. I can’t blame them for wanting me to come home. I wonder though...would I have stayed if it weren’t for that?