Homesickness

Would you believe me if I said I'd never been homesick before Ecuador? I've always longed for the things that could have been but weren't, or the things that had been but had since gone away. Never before have I longed for the things that are.

I always thought of homesickness as just sadness: curable by a good laugh or time spent with friends. But that isn't how it is. It's a sort of desperation, feeling entirely and completely out of your comfort zone and out of your mind for thinking this would be great. It's a kind of deep, lingering ache that doesn't go away with a laugh or a smile. It can be forgotten, but generally comes crashing down at the absolute worst times. It's a physical headache, a physical stomachache, and a physical downed immune system. It's a weight on the chest. It's the ever-present knowledge that I'm such a stranger here -- a fish completely and totally out of water.

That feeling won't go away while I'm here. It's only just begun to sink in that I am here, not there, not on vacation, not dreaming, but here, now. And I won't be able to say, "I'm home!" for another 5 1/2 weeks. That didn't seem very long while I was home, packing and waiting for Ecuador to be real. Now, it stretches before me interminably, vast and unending. And I want to go home so badly. I know perfectly well that I can't, but that doesn't stop the ache. 

When I get home, there will be aching too. Only this time it'll be aching that I missed so much. First teeth fell out and first teeth came in, a tenth birthday came and went, babies learned to walk and babies learned to talk, babies were born and "big" sibling couldn't proudly display them to me. I'll ache that I missed the day-to-day chatter and hustle and bustle. That I wasn't there for little -- and not-so-little -- people when they needed me.

And it hurts. I told God as much, this afternoon, staring out at the world as people who live here went about their daily lives, perfectly at home.