We took Rebeka to the airport in the wee hours of the morning. She is traveling back to Rwanda with a family that is moving there this same morning, with their three young children, their eleven checked bags, and a container that is somewhere in the middle of the ocean right now, on its way to their new home. We added two very large, very overstuffed suitcases to the total. There were tears.
It was hard to say goodbye, even though we know we’ll see her again. Even though we know her family is eagerly awaiting her return, and she’ll be walking to them on the bottoms of her pretty little feet.
It was hard because there is now a great big Rebeka-sized hole in our family. Only five of us sat around the table at Kerbey Lane later this morning, nibbling comfort food and laughing over Rebeka stories. We had a good last few days. We swam in the lake, and she learned how to swim with just floaties around her arms. Friends came and gave last hugs and jibbets for her croc shoes and sweet cards and other small gifts.
We went to the coast and sat on the edge of a pier, fishing, with the brilliant blue evening sky all around.
She had a last long walk down Manana, and tons of neighbors came to cheer her on and celebrate her victory when she crossed our toilet paper finish line. We took a last boat ride, and a last tube ride.
Last night we had cake.
We gave her some charms for her new charm bracelet. I read her picture books one last time. We set up sleeping bags in the living room and had a big sleepover, and we giggled and Rebeka “doopity-doopity’d” the lights dark (with some help from a remote).
Waking up this morning at 4:15, the world dark outside, the last day had finally come. We sat on the suitcases so we could zip them shut, then opened them again to squeeze in “one last thing.” We played one last game of UNO because miraculously, we were ready to leave early.
We drove to the airport, and I wondered what was going through Rebeka’s head as she stared out the window. We took a few last pictures, wanting to hold on to our family of six just a little longer.
Then there were tears. Whispers in her ear, promises that we love her, and her family is waiting for her, and we’ll come visit soon. Later, we went to Kerbey Lane and toasted our time with Rebeka with coffee cups and glasses of juice. The house is quiet now. Napping quiet, broken only by the ding of my phone as texts come in. “Praying for you,” “Love you,” “Give her a kiss from us.”
The friendships we’ve made, and the support we’ve received, these past eleven months has changed us just as surely as our time with Rebeka. It’s all part of the same beautiful story. We are so glad you’ve come along for the ride. Here’s a picture of “our girl,” taken after our last boat ride last night. We will never forget this smile. Blessings to you all.