Are You Brave Enough To Sit In The Middle?

The processing wheel spun on my cell phone as we waited for dinner to arrive at the restaurant. The night was sticky and hot, not a hint of a breeze in the air, the telltale smell of Haitian charcoal burning in the city around us was pungent.  The patio blared Reggae music, making it hard to be heard across the table. There was a celebratory feeling as we gathered together for our last meal in Haiti, no one was ordering rice and beans tonight.

“I’ve got a signal, want me to check you in to your flight?” He offered from across the table.

“Nah, it’s ok. I’m sure it will go through here in a minute.”

Minutes pass into a half hour and then an hour and still no signal while we tell stories that seem larger than life back and forth across the table.

“Alright, if you can, that’d be great. I’m not having any luck. Only thing is, I like to be as close to the front as possible, oh and as far away from the washrooms as possible, especially on a return trip from Haiti, oh and a window seat, please not the MIDDLE!” I trailed off. “I mean, I don’t HAVE to have all those things but they ARE what I prefer.”

He laughed.

In retrospect, the middle seat may have been easier than the window seat sitting for 5 hours next to the man who smelled like urine and fish, but I digress.

Home. Thrust back into the air so crisp it sucks your breath away, thermostats combatting frigid temperatures and sweaters and scarves and boots and big kid’s programs! My work Calendar would have it that one of my major Family Night events was scheduled before our Haiti trip was booked and there wasn’t a full day in between.  I found myself sitting at my work desk, less than 24 hours after arriving home desperately trying to ensure all my preplanning hadn’t left us scrambling.

The group text pinged on my phone.

“Anyone have a picture from the WASH project at the school I could use?”

I start scrolling through the photos on my phone and it is my undoing. Moments later I’m staring into the most gorgeous little squished up happy face, demanding my attention. Danouchca. And the tears start rolling and I can’t make them stop no matter how hard I try.

How can my heart ache so badly to be home and so badly to be back in Haiti at the same time? Those primal connections, eye to eye, heart to heart, It feels like I’ve done a lifetime of living in Haiti and a lifetime of living in Canada and I straddle the border line, the middle seat, trying to decide where to be. Necessity forces my hand to work, but my heart is wandering, my mind is drifting.

It is uncomfortable here, no easy escape from the reality to my left and the contrasting reality to my right. The warmth, the harshness, the scents, the relationships, the purpose from both worlds mix before me and my heart can’t decide whether to close up or open wider with it all. I feel disconnected from both but unwilling to give up one or the other. So, I will sit in the middle seat for now.