Leaving home is always hard…made all the more challenging when you don’t know where ‘home’ is anymore. Moving from Menomonie WI to Madison WI at the end of July seemed like such a small distance. Three hours by car; far more in a sense of ‘place’. Of course Dennis was there and well connected and we already had family and friends nearby. But my sense of identity was uprooted by leaving a job that was familiar and comfortable in so many ways. I was craving change and yet when it arrived on my doorstep I did not appreciate the fullness of the transformation that was awaiting me.
But I’m starting to.
Let me start this story with my preparations for a move to Ukraine…keeping in mind that I only had the vaguest idea of what I was going to be doing.
I organize a lot in my head (rather than making lists) – a system which fell completely apart because we had just moved from our own home to a two bedroom apartment and our worldly belongings were scattered like cards in a game of ’52 Pick-up’. We had agreed on a sale of our house mid-July and had to be out in two weeks’ time. We got rid of as much as we could, but we still are blessed with an excess of abundance. So, some of our items are in a storage facility near Dennis’ parents in Platteville WI and some are in the storage unit of the apartment. A few are neatly folded in drawers or hanging in closets. Most are in boxes that line every room of the apartment, stacked three and four tubs high. Simply locating the items I wanted to pack was a monumental challenge of my visual-spatial skills. And the house sale fell through and I had the added burden of driving back and forth between dwellings far more times that I care to remember.
And then I came down with Shingles and my mental (and physical) preparations evaporated overnight.
Shingles is a virus that lives in people who have had the chicken pox and may surface at any time in your life. I hope that you never meet it in person. It causes a rash around half of your body that blisters and burns, and stimulates the nerve endings like a hot poker in a fire. The pain is excruciating. So three weeks before my departure I was curled in a tight ball of pain praying for it to end and counting the minutes until my next pain medication. Dennis has never had the chicken pox so you can imagine the added stress on him (and his co-workers) as he was directly exposed and quite vulnerable. I also had to be quarantined from him as much as possible – while needing his help more than ever. My some miracle (and a ‘Hail Mary’ vaccine for him) Dennis did not get sick. Not even one tiny bump. I tell you, that man is made of Teflon. The worst of it was over in a week and I realized that despite my misery I could have had it much, much worse. It can linger for months. Some people lose their vision or experience facial disfigurement. Many are in chronic pain for the rest of their lives. I am (mostly) fine.
So, with my remaining week in the US I said as many goodbyes as I could in person and frantically stuffed as many items as I could into my allotted two suitcases. How do you pack for 9 months away when you don’t know exactly what your new job will be – or what the culture demands of you? Google ‘Ukrainian women’ online and you will see impeccably dressed women in impossibly high heels, and grandmothers dressed in traditional headscarves, wrapped in layers of wool and wrinkles. I am neither of those. And my role is new here so I wasn’t able to find similar work sites online. I sought guidance from Peace Corps (PC) staff in the US and Ukraine. I searched out blogs from past volunteers. But everything is dependent upon the individual situation and the location and the specifics of the job post. I started to laugh when I realized that I was doing exactly what my students have done for years. I was seeking a clear path for my own comfort and every response I received was “it depends – just trust your judgement”. So, I packed the exact same clothes I wore to my former job, with a few added layers for warmth.
I could have done better, but I have what I most need and I’ll live without the rest. It really is amazing how little we actually ‘need’ in this lifetime.
Of course, my greatest ‘need’ was holding my hand as I said a tearful goodbye at the airport. But he promises to visit at Christmas time. And in the meantime he gave me a tiny statue of himself to keep nearby.
I know what you’re thinking…. They should have put him in khaki shorts and hiking boots.