Coming Home 1.1

I look around my room.

My luggage sits next to the door all ready to go.  I have my suit hanging on a hanger above the door.  I have given most of my clothes away to the members in Osorno.

I get up and make my bed.  It will be the last time I do this in Chile.  

My first day in Chile comes flooding back.  I was scared and not sure I could be a missionary.  That first morning making my bed, I was sad for all the wrong reasons.  

I was sad again, but this time for the right reasons.

I feel my pillow.

I feel my blanket.

I grab my towel, flip-flops and head for the bathroom.

I have to go through the kitchen to get to the bathroom.  I know I am going to run into Mammita, and my heart breaks.  She has meant the world to me.  The thought of saying good-bye to her makes me sad.

I open the door and peek inside.  

I can see her.  

She is barely 5 feet tall, and is wearing the apron I bought her my first week in Osorno.  She is busy cooking at the stove.

 

I watch her.

75 years old, and still going strong.  She has been a Mammita for almost 20 years.

I love this woman.

I say a quick prayer in the doorway, asking Father to please bless her with health and strength.  I ask Father to care for her while I am gone.

I try as quietly as I can to sneak past her.

She turns.

Her eyes are red, and I can tell she has been crying.

Our eyes meet.

I smile.

She brings her hand to her mouth as the tears come streaming down her cheeks.  She motions for me to hurry on by. 

I obey.

Climbing the stairs, I think about Mammita.  180 days ago I met her for the first time.  Instantly we connected.  She would only address me as, “Hijo Mio”, not “Elder” like the rest of the missionaries.

My Son.

It is a title I hold close to my heart.

The night before, she out did herself.  My companion and I had come home after a long day of saying good-bye, to find the table covered with my favorite Chilean Foods.  Mammita was in her rocking chair waiting for us like she always had.

She would never wait for me in her rocking chair again.

I walk up to the table fighting the urge to cry.

I look down at my Mammita standing next to me.

She grabs my hand.

She smiles at me.

Nothing is said.  We know tomorrow will be the end.  It is killing us both.

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My companion snaps me out of my trance as he passes me on the stairway.  I watch him walk down the stairs, and I feel it.

Jealousy.

What I would give to switch places with him.

I gather myself, and continue up the stairs for my last shower in Chile.