People vs. Nothingness

The following is a post I wrote a while ago, but never got around to sharing. It's not quite the traditional Thanksgiving post that some of you might be looking for but I think it's still relevant.




It was around this time last year; winter was starting to creep in, extra layers of clothing were getting piled on and hot cocoa consumption was at an all time high. I don't remember what class period it was or even the day but the feeling of complete and utter loss was unshakable as my counterpart, Petinka, and I entered the 3rd grade classroom. The usually rambunctious students sat there in silence as their class teacher collected her belongings, she too was somber. Before leaving the classroom she muttered a few words to my counterpart who immediately turned her attention to one student who for the sake of this story will be called "Henry". 


At 8 years-old Henry was an eager student, classed as "low-vision", with an unwavering devotion for the "Ninja Turtles". On most days Henry waited by the classroom door to greet Petinka and I as we entered the room but on this day we found him sitting at his desk, silent, with his head hanging low. After a minute or two Henry's shaky voice cut through the silence as he told us how he had woken up that morning to complete darkness. What little vision he had, gone. Nothing.


Holy crap.


At no point in my 11 weeks of Peace Corps training had anything like this come up. Heck, in my 23 years of LIFE nothing like this had come up. What do you do? What do you say? Do you take the hard line and tell him "everything happens for a reason", "buck up kid, you'll be okay" or do you go with the false hope that "maybe it'll come back", "nothing a quick shot of rakia won't fix, am I right folks?" My counterpart and I did the only thing we could think of; we each took turns sitting with Henry sharing his grief in the silence. There were no harsh realities or fictitious tales, just silence.


In some of my darkest moments here I have often found myself thinking back to that day. Henry's vision never did return but since then he has learned to live life in spite of his visual impairment. While I will never understand the grief he felt it is hard not to feel a new found appreciation and gratitude for the people and things we have. I hope I never have to experience anything similar to Henry's story but I know that if I do I have some good friends and family that I can call on to sit in the silence with me, I don't think we can ask for anything more than that. 




How's that for a Thanksgiving wrap up?