my friend and i sat on the chair she cleared off for us while another sat on the edge of her bed. there were years of collected stuff piled everywhere; random paraphernalia, a picture of her deceased husband on the bookshelf and one of her son on the table, and boxes upon boxes filled with things i couldn't see. she was proud of her home, i could tell. and she invited me into it without knowing anything but my name.

it didn't take long for her to pull out a stack of paper and start showing us how to make one of her 'special' puppets. she was so passionate about these puppets. so much, in fact, that she handed us a 'how to' manual so that we could make them, too.

part of her reminded me of my favourite bible character, dorcas, whom i had just so passionately shared about with a church a few weeks a go and the group of students from montreal. and another part reminded me of my mom, whom i seem to miss more and more with each passing day (they say it gets easier, but i don't think it does.) and how sweet she was.

she started sharing part of her story, how the doctor thinks she has cancer (also brought back memories of my hero of a mom) and how she is ready to go. i guess a lot of older people get to that point (especially after hearing the C word and knowing what that battle entails.) and then, even though she had just shared some of her pain, asked if she could pray for us. i was so touched; somehow, this elderly lady, whom i had met a measly ten minutes prior, quickly made her way into my heart.

as we're saying our goodbyes, she asked us if we would come visit her again because 'she doesn't have any friends.' her eyes filled with tears as she asked. so did mine.

loneliness always strikes a chord in my heart. because i get it. and i think it's one of the hardest things to struggle through and wrestle with, and something i believe we can all help each other with in a small way.

yes, people love me. a lot of people, in fact. i'd be dumb to think otherwise, but i can't shake the deep loneliness i feel on an almost daily basis.

this past week was one of my all-time favourites. walking alongside of the students from montreal brought me so much joy and confirmed the calling on my life (blog coming early next week).

i struggled the next day when i had no one to share it with. i wanted so bad to be able to call my mom and dad and let them know how great it was, that i finally found my niche. all they wanted was for their daughter, the one who struggled so much emotionally, to be happy. and i was. i am. and i want so badly for them to be able to see it; i long to be able to share my life with them, but i can't. so i'm left with this unfillable void. a void i want to fill, but can't. hence the word unfillable.

i packed my week with babysitting some of my favourite kids and had a blast. it was nice to have some company - albeit that of an almost ten year old and a six year old - but company none the less. would you believe me when i say that i cried when i left them? LIKE WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? the thought of coming home to an empty house made me sad. because, well, loneliness.

i have so much i want to process and talk through. i'm a processor (you all know that) and i have so much to talk about.

like how great the montreal team was and how alive i felt when i was teaching them about my city and sharing the ins and outs of poverty with them. where i feel like i failed and how i want to improve and grow. how i cant wait until the next team comes and how scared i am that i have a lot of space to fill in between now and then. how much i long for companionship and a family of my own and how i spend way too much time wracking my brain trying to figure out why everyone else seems to have one and i don't. how my feed is full of "i don't know what i would do without my mom/dad/parents/husband" posts and how i want to scream, and how social media has been affecting me in the most negative way lately but how i can't seem to stop scrolling any ways.

but i sit here and blog instead. because it helps me and i know it helps some of you, too. (even those of you who have the kind of family i long for.) and i know that you, too, will be able to take comfort in my honesty the same way i was able to take comfort in a lovely lady by the name of helen who allowed me the honour of sitting in her home for twenty minutes last week...twenty minutes where she felt less alone, and twenty minutes where i did, too.