Letting Go and Saying No

May 26th at 6:09 AM: On our second full day in Zambezi I woke up to text from my Mom that read “Call now, urgent”. The call was about my Grandpa, he had fallen and hit his head hard and was unconscious. “It’s bad” she said as she passed the phone to my Dad. My Dad explained to me that the doctors said he might not make through the night. My Grandpa had always been extremely healthy for his age. He always went on daily walks, ate the best foods, and cut out all of his “bad habits” (AKA coffee and wine). I was so horrified by how everything had changed so quickly. One minute he was fine the next minute he was fighting for his life. 

I asked my Mom to hold the phone to his ear as I told him all the ways he positively impacted my life. His career at Boeing that spanned from the 1960s to the 1990s inspired me to be an engineer, just like him. He always took the time to encourage me and celebrate all of my achievements throughout school. In May, he saw me walk across the stage and become the first female engineer in my family. Throughout his career he got to travel to five different continents and countless countries. He was very excited for my own adventure here. I like to think I got my love for exploring places and meeting new people from him. Now all I could do was selfishly hope he could hold on for just a little while longer.

As I laced up my running shoes I prayed the doctors were wrong. I prayed that he would recover. I didn’t know if I should carry on with my scheduled run with Josh and Ana. However, there was something so calming about the routine of getting ready that soothed me. Ultimately, I decided a run would be for the best.  

During the run we paused to admire one of Josh’s favorite spots in Zambezi. A bridge constructed of thin wooden planks that spanned a stream. The stream was ponded and its surface was engulfed in blossoming lily pads. The centerpiece of the perfect picture was the sun that shone just over the horizon. A hallow of orange surrounded the little ball of light, extending outwards causing far off tree to appear as silhouettes. A sunrise, a sign of renewal and rebirth. A symbol that can make even the worst days hold promise. For the first time that day, I exhaled.

A few minutes after our run ended my phone started ringing, I hadn’t even stepped into the convent yet. Once I could muster up enough cell service to do so, I answered the phone. “It’s over”, I heard. My grandpa had passed away. It was the answer I never wanted, but one that I thought I may have at least few more hours to come to terms with before it came in. One hour did not feel like enough time. I felt like I had whiplash. As my fingers fastened the buttons on my shirt for 10 AM Mass that same morning, nothing felt real. I clung onto my routine, simple tasks, and events in a desperate attempt to satisfy a longing for normalcy. A sense of normalcy that, for a short while, allowed me to escape the reality of his death. I carried on with my week in a vacuum. 

On Friday, I learned that the funeral was scheduled for the day I return from Zambia, and that I’d be missing the funeral by only a few hours. Something within my false sense of normalcy cracked a little, and I could feel the pain I hardly had any time to feel brimming to the surface. Yet I still had to get through my three computer classes that day. The weekend was filled with ZamCity, a home stay, a 3-hour Mass, a lunch out, and a birthday celebration for a very special Mama’s Boy (AKA Jackson). I sat at the of the dinner table overwhelmed with the idea of facing another week. It had been an entire week since my grandpa died and I felt like I barely had time to be sad about it and grieve him. 

I left the table early. Jeff found me in the computer room a little later. He ask me how I was. “Fine” I replied, I was certainly not fine. “And sad” he asked? That was all he had to say, I started crying. Jeff got Josh and they offered me the opportunity to spend the night at the Royal, a secure (and Boujee) place where I could be alone and have some peace. There was also an option that included leaving to the Royal Monday morning, foregoing my Monday tasks completely. The thought of missing my classes, one of my favorite parts of Zambezi, was sad to me. My heart also churned, at the I thought of the kids I promised to play with that Monday afternoon. However, I knew I needed to say “yes” so I took the opportunity.

The Royal was indeed super boujee, with little white hut-styled rooms lining the property. Gonzaga payed for a room that overlooked the Zambezi River and covered all my meals while I was there. There I did my best to center myself, to reflect, to read, to call friends and family, and to simply just relax. I watched the fires lit by the Luvale tribe turn the sunset red as I dangled my feet off the platform walkway outside my room. In such a beautiful setting, it was hard not to feel the pressure to come back and be “fixed”. It was hard not to feel like I needed to find a way to return renewed and ready to hop back into the connections we are forming, ready to be my full self again, and ready to tackle all these new experiences with inhibited joy. However, the most important thing I realized while I was taking a step back was the importance of saying “no”. 

Zambezi for most, is a once in a lifetime experience. We are told to “yes” to things, to be uncomfortable, and to stretch beyond yourself. However, I’ve learned that something like the unexpected death of a beloved family member brings a new caveat to those suggestions. I’ve learned that saying “no” is just as important and sometimes even more challenging than saying “yes”. I’ve learned that I need to practice setting more boundaries, in order to give myself the space to mourn regardless of the unique and fleeting environment I am in. Whether I’m saying “no” to the laundry list of tasks I create for myself here or saying no to others, it’s the only way I’ve found here to carve out more time for myself.

Throughout this process I’ve also realized what an amazing group of people I’m walking through this journey with. From the moment they heard the news I’ve received an overwhelming amount of support, empathy, and love from my fellow Zam Zags. We’ve really transformed from a group of strangers to a family (our Zam Fam), especially  in these last few weeks abroad. Immediately everyone was offering me big, big hugs, hand squeezes, pats on the head, kind condolences, a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on, access to a stash of treats (Thanks Katie!), and more. People offered to take on my chores for the day, with Emily pitching in to help with dinner dishes (the evening I found out) so I could have more time to talk on the phone with family. Ani gave me the time to talk about the incredible person my grandpa was during group reflection. Charlie took the lead in all three of our computer classes when I took a leave on Monday (with Josh acting as his assistant). Both Josh and Jeff have always been available to share in sad news with me and process things as they come in. I wish I could sit here and write how each person in the convent has helped me cope through this time. They truly all have taken time out of their days to comfort me in some way. While it has been less ideal to be 9,600 miles away from my family in such a difficult season, I truly feel blessed by the home away from home we have created here.

Sarah Simmons, Class of 24