Some of the team has left for home already, Beatrice and Angelica are busy in the kitchen doing our dishes. Two boys are outside waiting for their American friends to appear on the porch. I sit on the couch by the fireplace tea in hand contemplating "who am I?" Who was I when I arrived and who am I as I leave? I know the hand of God has touched my heart and I am changed. It is too early to fully understand just how but I will watch and listen as I walk the road ahead of me.
There is a knock at the door. The boys are eager to engage. I selfishly sit on the couch with my pen and paper. Soon others will be up and the quiet of mourning will disappear. Who am I? An American who still relishes the silent moments of the morning.
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