Haitians know how to grieve. And they know how to laugh. And they know how to suffer. And they know how to hold onto hope in the face of impossible odds.

And they are my people. So what better place to spend the last few days than in this country of contrasts, of joy and of sorrow, as I prepare to fight the toughest battle I’ve yet to face in my 52 years.

As I shared with the church on Sunday, I will fight this with everything I am. I will fight this because of the boys at CERMICOL, I will fight this for the children of CCS, I will fight this for the community we have built at Haiti Awake, but most importantly, I will fight this for the six boys who have become the sons of my heart, if not the sons of my flesh.

It’s hard to look into the faces of those you love and break their hearts with the news you bear. It’s hard to say, “I have every intention of coming back, but I cannot say for certain I will.” But as I told the boys on Saturday night, “I have always told you the truth, and I always will.”

We talked about the fact that I will lose my hair, that I won’t look the same. Wesly and I broke the tension of it when I told them not to call me “Tèt Kale” when they see me, and Wesly told me he has plenty of caps I can borrow. Goodness. I love being able to laugh when it seems we should cry.

As you can see from these photos Hudson, Steeve, and I took, we laughed - so much, we cried - a little, we hugged, we hoped, and we faced reality - together.

In the days ahead I pray I can continue to step forward with the same courage, determination, hope and strength I have learned from these beautiful people who have become my extended family.

There was a song we sang at church when I was a child, and in recent days these lyrics have played in my head:

“I know God makes no mistakes. He leads in every path I take along the way that’s leading me to Home. Though at times my heart would break, there’s a purpose in every change He makes. That others would see my life and know that God makes no mistakes.”

Glwa pou Bondye.