Meeting Nalo

It was our third night there, at "Breanna's House of Joy", outside Chiang Mai Thailand. I still didn't know very many of their names. Mostly they were a blur of little bodies and teenage giggles and beautiful faces. Always smiling, hugging me, holding my hands, surrounding and pressing into me constantly. Pulling this way and that. Needing love and attention.

After dinner of rice with pumpkin soup, one of our team members mentioned that two of the little girls were sick. Everyone was up in the big room hanging out, playing games, doing homework, so I wandered into the bedrooms to see if the sick girls needed anything. Dakota was already sitting with Wanipa. Then I found the other one. She was tiny, curled up in the low single bed under a blanket, even tho' it was at least 90 degrees in there. The little bed had side rails to keep her from falling out and was surrounded by pink mosquito netting, so the only way I could get to her was to crawl in with her. I sat crosslegged beside her in that small hot space and began to stroke her hair. She was burning up with fever and her headache was so painful she would barely open her eyes. I gently massaged the pressure points on her head for what seemed a long time, helped her sip some water and then just sat, praying over her silently, stroking her hair, her little brown hands, her delicate thin arms. Not knowing if she even wanted me there or if she was so achy that my touch made it worse. And it hit me hard, that this was probably the first time she had ever been taken care of, fussed over, loved on, while she was sick. And how much I care-take my children when they are hurting, do whatever it takes to ease their pain and get them well.

She misses dinner, curls up in her bed and cries herself to sleep, alone and miserable. And no one ever knows. And I wept over her.

When she seemed to be falling asleep and I was stiff from sitting hunched, curled and sweaty beside her, I moved to crawl out of the bed and she grabbed my arm without a sound, wrapping both her tiny brown arms around it, hugging it to her chest. A silent "don't go yet, I want you here". So I stayed and loved awhile longer until she fell asleep.

That was how I met Nalo. She is 7 and looks about 4. She has a 10 yr old sister, Maniwan, and they have one of the hard stories. Their father was shot and killed. Maybe in front of them. Their mother is mentally ill and a drug addict. She's in an institution because she cannot care for herself, much less two small girls. They don't have any one who cares or wants them.

Nalo got better the next day and was well by the 2nd day. From that night on she was never far from my side. I carried her around, or held her hand or she clutched my shorts pocket when my hands were busy. When she played, it was beside me. She is a bright, cheerful and quiet little girl and she stole all our hearts with her irresistable sweetness. At the end of the week, some of the girls started getting sad, knowing that we had to leave. On Saturday evening, our team left to spend a couple hours with the Parkers and we were saying "Vondi" goodnight, to all the girls. I looked around for Nalo but she wasnt there. I began to search and found her sitting behind a piller, head down, eyes wet. She thought we were leaving for home and her little heart was breaking. I picked her up and asked one of the older girls to explain that we weren't leaving yet, just saying goodnight for the evening.

Sunday morning, we enjoyed breakfast with the girls and then got dressed for church. We were all riding into church together in Songtao's and, after taking some group pictures, we started to load up for the 30 min ride. Once again Nalo was missing after being at my side all morning. I searched her out and she was sitting in one of the Songtaos, face in hands, hunched against the metal truck cab, tears rolling down. I slid in beside her, gathering her onto my lap and just held her. Catching her tears on my finger, touching her face, her arms, her back, snuggling and loving her. My heart breaking for this precious tiny person who felt the love of a mother for a short time. Now it was going to be taken away. After the church service, it was time. She cried and literally would not let go of me. I hugged everyone else goodbye with one arm because Nalo was holding onto my right hand with both tiny arms. We were loading into the van to go and I had hugged her tight, taking her delicate face in my hands and kissed her forehead and cheeks. Still she would not let go. I was wearing my favorite necklace and bracelet, a bright green and blue assortment of beads strung on elastic, so I slipped them off and onto her. She let me go then, smiled and began to play with them and I got into the van and waved goodbye. To this sweet little heart who is just one in millions and billions of people. Just one who was special to no one, noticed by no one, loved by no one. And I felt my heart break open again at the unfairness, the overwhelming sadness, of Nalo's story. Was it better that she never get a taste of love and affection? Would she then just never know what she was missing? Or was there a hole that was filled for a small while? A wound that began to heal a bit because I fell in love with her? I just don't know. But I do know that I miss her intensely and think about her often and weep for her, and love her from afar. And that this ache is worth every moment of loving that little girl Nalo.

It is.