One Year Later…
If I’m being completely honest, I’m feeling a bit raw this week. The day this post goes live will be exactly one year since we piled our bags in a rented van, and drove away from our home in Haiti for the last time.
I remember waking up that morning, knowing it was the last morning. The packing and sorting and trying to clear out the house of our personal stuff had felt like it went on too long, while also feeling like it wasn’t enough time. There were decisions about what to take that felt easy, and there were decisions that felt so hard. For years I had had moments where I would think about what items I’d take if we had to leave, and when it came time to actually make those decisions it was interesting to see what made the cut.
- Things from my Granny, like the green pottery dish she made that we kept our matches in by the stove, and a carved wooden box I used for my jewelry.
- My soaping molds, cutters, and various tools and supplies.
- Sentimental items from the kids lives, like their baby books and all the teeth they’d lost that we’d saved in little baggies.
- Favorite shoes and clothes, but only the ones we could still wear in the US where the climate would be colder.
- Favorite books, video games and things like that – but only the really important ones.
- Some of my favorite wood dishes that I’d collected over the years that were made in Haiti by Haitian hands.
- My stand mixer and Chris’ brewing supplies, or at least most of them.
I know there was much more, and yet there was so much we left behind. Months later I’d have a moment where I realized I left a few things that I wished I’d brought, and a sweet friend who was traveling out would go over and rummage through boxes with Alexandre and find those things and ship them to me along with a bunch of coffee.
The day we left we piled our bags in the living room and anxiously waited for the rented minibus that Alexandre had hired to arrive. The tensions were high around the property because tensions were high with our staff. I haven’t really talked about this much because it was very fragile at the time, but along with and related to the insecurity, part of the reason we knew it was time to leave was because we’d discovered a massive theft that had been taking place for at least all of 2022, but probably ongoing for several years in a trickle that we had missed. We had been pretty good about catching other issues, but we missed this one for way too long.
It was such a big issue that it would have been impossible for anyone on our staff to not be aware of it to some degree, which meant they were either participating in it, or allowing it to keep going because they were worried about speaking up about those that were responsible. Dealing with it completely would have meant firing our entire staff and starting fresh, but we knew that would be incredibly difficult and put our family at risk. If we did that, an already fragile security situation in country and in our general area would explode on a personal level as people would be upset about a massive firing. Chris and I had dealt with things like that before, but it was before we had a family to factor in. We also couldn’t move around the country freely, so hiring new staff and starting over and trying to train them the way we’d need to just wasn’t physically possible.
We knew that Alexandre, as a retired police officer, would have the ability to deal with staffing issues in a way that we couldn’t, and that was part of the reason he was the best person suited to step up and take our place at Clean Water for Haiti when we knew it was time to go. The feelings of leaving our home and recognizing that pouring ourselves into something so close to our hearts that we now had to say goodbye to was complicated by a lot of questions and not enough answers about all the relationships we had over the years, but that’s probably an entirely different conversation. At the very least, it made leaving feel heavier and more complicated because rather than leaving people we had worked with for years and simply grieving that, we were leaving with that and a side of feeling betrayed and hurt.
As we sat in our living room I remember chatting with the kids and trying to not feel overwhelmed. We had gone out to take a picture in the yard as a family earlier, and I look back and know all the feelings behind those smiles. I see them in the pictures I took in our living room for the last time. Then, after what felt like waiting for an eternity, I heard the van rattling down the road. Yes, it actually rattled. When it came into view I tried not to panic. When we had talked about a “minibus” I was thinking 15 passenger van. This “minibus” was a 90’s era Chevy van. I looked at our pile of luggage and tried to do the math and the math wasn’t mathing. I couldn’t imagine that everything would get in – all 8 50lb duffel bags, 4 carry ons, 3 backpacks, a guitar, 4 Rollings, an Alexandre, the driver, and two police officers we were picking up along the way for security. But you know what? It and we all fit in. It was kind of a loaves and fishes situation, if you know what I mean.
I have a bunch of snippets of memories from that trip…
- Alex sat on Alexandre’s lap from St. Marc to the dirt airstrip so the two police officers could share the front passenger seat. One of them ended up sitting on the console, and I just kept thinking about how chill they were about the fact that they had to do that because no North American would be okay with that.
- Olivia spent most of the trip kneeling on the floor in front of Chris and I because that felt more comfortable than trying to squeeze her butt onto the seat with us.
- Driving through the Artibonite Valley for the last time and seeing all the rice fields, the clear blue skies, and thinking of all the years living on that little island.
- My head held Chris’ guitar in place for the whole trip.
- The van had tinted windows and looked like it could barely drive, yet it flew like the wind and was actually perfect because no one would have expected it to hold an expat family and all the things they felt most important at the time. This was proven true when we stopped on the side of the road to buy a couple gallons of gas and one of the guys saw me through the passenger window and was startled.
- We got to the airstrip in great time and with zero issues on the road. At times I stifled giggles because it all seemed so ridiculous, but was also the perfect way to leave the country. Because Haiti.
We ended up having to wait on the airstrip for a while because our plane was late arriving. When it came time to load up I remember hugging Alexandre for the last time, having no idea when we’d see him again, and knowing the huge responsibility he was stepping into. Then I watched as he and Chris hugged and I had to stifle tears. Relationships in Haiti are hard. In that moment I was reminded of the depth of their friendship, everything we’d all been through together, and the fact that one of the only reasons we’d been able to keep going as long as we had was because of Alexandre.
We got on that plane, and the sun was just starting to go down. As we took off and flew over the Artibonite Valley I looked down and saw the place where so many of our filters had gone, where so much of our work had been done. So many lives touched. Chris was sitting in front of me and I remember seeing him doing the same thing, and just feeling the sadness. Olivia hates flying and she spent most of the flight holding my hand. About halfway through I felt her relax and I looked over to see her staring out at the mountains. She turned to me and told me how beautiful it all was. Chris got to fly the plane for most of the trip, which was an unexpected highlight. Our pilot from MAF was so caring and thoughtful of what our family was going through. I won’t forget him praying for us before we took off and his kindness. As hard as that flight was, it was also such a gift.
If I’ve learned anything in all my years of living in Haiti, and in the past year it’s this – grief can coexist with so many other things. Grief and an appreciation for beauty. Grief and joy. Grief and comfort. It’s never an either/or. It’s always a yes/and.
As I’m writing this and reflecting on that day I’m fighting tears because it all still feels so raw, and yet life feels so different now. When we arrived so many people were happy to see us. That felt so good, but was also hard. In their well meaning and loving welcome we heard many say, “We’re so glad you got out and are safe and are home…” But this wasn’t home for us. We left our home. The life that Chris and I had built together, and then welcomed our kids into. The life we built as a family. The house we physically designed and built ourselves. Our community. Our way of doing life. And for Chris, his work and identity as the Executive Director of Clean Water for Haiti, one of the things he has been the most passionate about in his entire life. We’d smile and nod and say thank you, then later I’d cry because we had lost so much.
This past year has been full of grief and loss beyond Haiti as well. We lost Chris’ Dad to cancer in April. Relationships have been different because so many of the people in our life in Haiti have also been traveling a similar journey of trying to figure out how to do this life that none of us planned for. We’ve talked about planning to get together, but life happens. Jobs, kids in school, sickness, just trying to breathe and get through another day. Then before you know it months have gone by. Trying to establish a new community is so hard, especially when you’re grieving a life you’ve left behind that so many would struggle to connect with or understand.
But, in the midst of all of that things start to shift. The grief has felt a bit lighter in recent months. There are more moments of contentment and joy. Again, I’m learning to hold space for all of it.
I’m once again an immigrant, and that’s giving me more opportunities to learn. We submitted my green card application in March and we’re slowly making progress. I got my work permit back in June, which made it possible for me to get a social security number, which means I can do other things too. That felt good.
Chris started a new job in April as the Executive Director of a nonprofit in Portland. It seemed like a good fit initially, but over time we both started to see that it wasn’t for a lot of reasons. None of them were bad and there was no crisis, it just wasn’t right for him. He knew he didn’t want to be in charge of anything anymore, and if he was going to be fundraising for anything, he wanted it to be Clean Water for Haiti. We decided that he should leave that job and look for something else. In the end he decided to apply to the school district to be a bus driver. It might seem like a strange career move, but we’re both actually excited about it. They pay for all his training and he gets paid during training. They’re so short of drivers right now that he’ll most likely have a full time route in the next 2-3 months. The pay will be equivalent to what he was making before, he has benefits, a pension, and it’s a union job, so wage security. The best part is that he’ll have all the same holidays off that our kids have off. We know we only have so much time with them at home, and we want to savor that.
We took the kids to California for two weeks to visit Chris’ brother and sister in law in July. It was a great trip. It was the first time we’d been able to hop in a car and just travel somewhere for several weeks, then know when we got back we were going home and not having to get on a plane and manage all of the travel stuff like we had for the entire life of our family. We had a lot of fun. We did touristy things. We did family things. We went to Disneyland and had the best day. We remembered we loved and missed traveling.
We bought a house. I weekly look around and am baffled at just how all of that came together, and how I once again saw God’s provision for our family in such a specific way. We didn’t have concrete plans to do that this year. We had a very specific list of what we wanted, and were prepared to wait. But then this house popped up and it checked every box for way less money than anything else that had been on the market, or has been since. We’re fixing it up and making it our own. Some days it feels overwhelming to realize we’re home owners and we’re setting down roots.
Our house, when we toured it for the first time, even had the space for me to have an entire, dedicated space to make soap. I had dreamed of this for years in Haiti when I was running Mozaik Soap. I would imagine a space where I could make soap and work and leave everything organized and not have it spread all over the house. In the past six months I’ve realized once again how much I need to be creating things because that feeds my soul, and not being able to make soap because we didn’t have space in our rental was really starting to affect me. This past week I finished putting my soap studio together and I now have this beautiful work space in our basement that I can walk into at any time and just start creating.
Last Friday night while Chris and the kids watched a show in the next room I made my very first batch of soap in almost a year and a half. I was using some familiar tools and things, and yet so many things were new and different. I felt like I was bumbling through in many ways, but I also saw my muscle memory kick in and things came back. I focused on just making soap, and not worrying too much about making it the most beautiful batch ever. I just needed to do it for the first time, to remember that I could, and why I loved it. The next day I unmolded and felt myself exhale a bit more. I felt more like myself. More complete. All that while still grieving all that we’d left behind. The boxes of soaping supplies I’d left. And yet I had gained so much that I can put to work now.
I’ve been starting the process of setting up a little soaping business and am hoping to launch that in the new year. Again, I had dreamed of being able to sell my soap more consistently outside of Haiti, so the fact that I now have a soap studio in our basement where I can do this makes my head spin in a good way. It’s fun to think about all the things I want to do, but also be able to make decisions based off of years of experience and trial and error in Haiti. I’ve had a lot of encouragement from friends and family which has been so sweet.
In Haiti we had a community around us, many of whom made up our church. It was a rag tag group of expats over the years, but they were ours. We also tried to connect with the Haitian church multiple times over the years, and that was good but always complicated and different. Being able to worship in your own language and ways that are familiar to you are important. Being here we knew we’d eventually need to find a church that felt like “us”, whoever we were now. A church that met us where we were at and we felt like we fit after almost twenty years of being changed in so many ways from our time in Haiti. Honestly, we figured this would be one of the biggest challenges with getting settled here.
One weekend we chatted and talked about what we missed. What we needed. Chris told me to go online and see what I could find, then we’d just make a list and start visiting places and see what felt best for us. I Googled, and one of the first to pop up was Union Chapel. It was really close to where we lived, which was important, because we wanted to be able to plug in and not worry about driving across town. I started going through their website and connected with their statement of faith, along with a lot of other things. We decided to make that our first visit the next day. We walked in and were greeted by various people. People took time to learn our names. After the service we went to meet the lead pastor. We asked if we could get together for coffee. He scheduled us for two days later and also started introducing us to people. We met for coffee that week and felt welcomed and that we connected. We went back.
That was in February. We didn’t stop going. People kept learning our names. People invited us over for meals. We connected with a home group of people who have kids the same age as our kids, and we’ve found people we love being with. One of the things we love about our church is that it doesn’t have a bulletin full of programs for people from the church. Instead, if they’re doing something, it’s with the intention of building community OR to work towards church health and asking how we can be loving those around us in our local community. They try to encourage an outward focus, to care about the things God cares about, not using the church to serve ourselves. They’ve hosted groups to address social justice issues, spiritual and emotional health, and are starting one for people who are struggling with how they feel about faith and church in general. They have church family meetings every quarter to keep everyone in the know about things going on. This past Sunday we had a chilli cook-off and potluck meal just because it’s fun and it’s a chance for everyone to get together and enjoy each other’s company over a meal. Two weeks ago a family in our home group suddenly lost their son and we’ve witnessed the church rally around them in a way that has been beautiful. I’ve felt so free to just be and process through life in this community. Just this past Sunday our pastor spoke on grief and lament. While his voice caught several times through his message I sat there with tears streaming down my face because someone was talking about holding space for both grief and the beautiful things in life, because they can and do co-exist.
I didn’t expect to find our church the first time out of the gate, but it looks like we did, and I’m so incredibly grateful. It’s been a safe place to land and feel seen and loved. So often as I’ve sat in services I’ve thought of so many of my friends that are struggling with their relationship with the Church and God, while I hear our pastor humbly and directly speak to those things in a way that I’ve never heard, and I wish I could gather those people together and just sit with them in that space. Not because I think our pastor is amazing and needing to be lifted up. Rather because he’s so humble and sweetly awkward and human, and I feel like he approaches things in a way that is so healing. He directly acknowledges where the Church as failed in so many of these areas, something that is so desperately needed from the pulpit, then has this way of working through a passage of scripture in a way that brings more context and understanding of the heart of God. So many times since we started attending I’ve sat in a service and felt like my heart was being glued back together just a little bit more.
Our kids are attending public school for the first time in their lives. They transferred in back in January, and adjusted way better than we thought they would initially. There have been rough patches, and the novelty has definitely worn off, but they’re both doing well despite all the adjustments. It’s crazy to think that Olivia is old enough to get her learners permit, and Alex is basically looking me in the eyes. I don’t feel ready for this but I don’t have a choice in the matter, so I’m trying to embrace it.
There are many things we miss from our life in Haiti, and we talk about those things regularly. Life here is just very different. We spent a lot of time together as a family in Haiti, so having the kids in school all day and having to be intentional about making time for each other. I’m grateful for the childhood our kids had, where they could run outside all day, and in Alex’s case, do it with minimal clothing :) They had so many amazing experiences that they wouldn’t have had living in North America. I know just from conversations over the past year together that they see that and miss it, but also like certain things about living here.
Haiti will always be part of us. For Chris and I it was where we met, where we built our life as a couple, where we started our family, and where we built one of the most important things either of us will probably ever do with our skills. We miss the days of freely moving around the country and know that while we left last year, life had already been very different for several years. We miss the adventure and knowing we were doing something that mattered deeply. We miss the life we had 4-5 years ago and the Haiti that existed then. It was a special season. But we also know those days are gone, and in some way that makes things a bit easier now.
As we make our way here I know the grief will become less. We did a week of debriefing back at the end of February with Chris’ brother and sister-in-law, who work in missionary care. Normally it’s not recommended that you counsel or debrief family, but in our case it was a big gift. Matt had served on our Board for a while, and they both knew our story. We didn’t have to unpack any of that with them, and we could all lean into the hard things together. During the week I remember Matt saying that grief never leaves us, it just changes shape and becomes less prominent. It’s always there, but it takes up less space over time, and we find room for other things. I know it’ll take years, but we’re already seeing glimpses here and there. I know we’ll be okay, and I also know it’s okay to have days that are hard, or moments that suck the air out of my lungs. I’m learning to let them come, feel them, take a deep breath and look forward.
~Leslie