My heart hurts.

Every beat, a constant, aching reminder of the last time I saw him.

I thought I had prepared myself. It had only been six weeks. I knew I would love my time with the children, but I couldn’t possibly get THAT attached in only a month and a half, could I?

After multiple days of rain, the sun finally made an appearance for my last day of placement. We gathered in the courtyard and revelled in the warm air and the excuse for a celebration. Before long, the dull roar of a muffler-less vehicle drowned out the tinny music coming from the stereo I had borrowed for our impromptu party. I peered through the wrought iron gate and saw children of all ages wedged into the back of the noisy car, its exterior dotted with more rust than paint.  A girl who looked to be about 10 slid out of the crammed backseat and called out his name.

“NO!” I screamed silently. It was too early. He couldn’t leave yet. He hadn’t even eaten the cake that I had clumsily decorated, using smarties to spell out the words “I WILL MISS YOU.”

The women at the Educare giggled and teased me about saying goodbye to one of my two favourites. The 10 year old girl stared at us, unimpressed, as she motioned for him to hurry up.

I stood frozen as one of the ladies thrust my party favours of a balloon and a lollipop into his hands. My legs began to shake and as I crouched in front of him, they gave out completely and I landed hard on my right knee. Even though I had promised myself I wouldn’t cry, the reality of the moment hit me as tears sprung disobediently out of the corners of my eyes and raced down my cheeks.

He stared at me in bewilderment as I swiped at my face and begged for time to stop. I needed just a few more minutes, hours, days with this precious little boy. This little man that I would gladly bring home with me, raise as my own, and continue to love unconditionally, if only I had the chance.

The women clucked around us as they told him in Xhosa to hurry up and give “Mama Terri” a hug goodbye. He looked from me to the balloon, to the lollipop, and then back to me as he tried to understand the cause of all of the commotion. I smiled encouragingly and he finally flashed me his beautiful grin and stepped into the circle of my arms. Like a needy mother hen, I grasped a little too tightly and held on for a little too long as I stuck my nose in the crevice of his neck and inhaled the musty smell of dirt and sweat.

Then he pushed off from me and I heard his shoes clatter across the worn bricks. By the time I stood up, he was gone. Squished into the groaning car with all of those other children. Off to see what weekend adventures awaited him. I swallowed the sobs threatening to surface. I couldn’t fathom the thought of never seeing him again.

Maybe in a couple of weeks, he won’t remember me. A new volunteer will have taken my place, eager to play with him and give him hugs.

But, I will never forget him. The light in his eyes when he saw me each morning. His infectious giggle. The way he would press his little body against my leg when he wanted a hug.

He is far too young to understand the impact that he and the other children have had on me. I set out from Vancouver with big hopes of making a tiny difference in the lives of a few children in need. Instead, after six weeks in the Townships of Cape Town, a group of beautiful children have made a major difference in my life. They have given me so much more than I could ever give them. They have taught me to appreciate the small things, to be grateful for all of my blessings, and to open my heart up to unconditional love.

I don’t have the words to explain the emotions racing through me on my last night in Cape Town.  What I will tell you is that even with the current ache in my heart, I would not change one moment of this incredible experience.

“The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart.” Helen Keller