by Rebecca Rendall

Last semester, I spent three and a half months studying development and social pluralism in Cameroon (see map for a little geographic guidance). Both before and after my semester abroad, I was asked many questions ranging in topics from the weather conditions to the people I met to my reasons for going to the relative merits of the country as a whole. There were (and still are) some questions that always stump me. I did not have a clear and concise way to answer “How was it?” or “Did you have fun?” I usually smiled and nodded or muttered some affirmative words. In answering questions of interested and uninterested (but polite) friends and family, I began to think about what I wish they would ask. I thought about what I would say if all the layers of social convention were stripped away and my personal ability to be vulnerable was suddenly emboldened. This is what I would say. The distance between me and my family was absolutely unbearable, but the love of my family and friends assured me that I could leave again. And this is why…

My grandmother (affectionately called Grandma Me by my brothers, my cousins and me) died on October 25, 2013. It was the day before my twenty-first birthday and the day we moved from Yaoundé to Ngaoundéré. (We moved cities within Cameroon in order to interact with the populations we were learning about in class. In this case, we moved in order to study the predominantly Muslim population.) I was supposed to Skype my grandma and my mom that day. Instead, my mom answered my call with tears in her eyes and told me that my grandma had passed away a half hour before I called. There I was, 6,341 miles from home and 6,742 miles from my grandma’s house and I could not do anything about it. Thus began the hardest week of my life so far.

Before I left to go to Cameroon, I visited my grandma, my aunt and uncle and my cousins in Minnesota because I wanted to see everyone in my family before I left the country for a semester. My grandma had two rounds left in her cycle of chemotherapy when I arrived. I went with her and my aunt to the hospital the next day for her treatment, but unfortunately her blood counts were too low, requiring a blood transfusion. This started the process of my grandma undergoing tests to see if chemo would be effective anymore. When I left for Cameroon, the results were not available yet. I left home knowing that the results could indicate whether or not my grandma would be alive when I came back in December.

As you may have guessed, the results were not positive. My grandma, along with my aunts and my mom, had to make the difficult decision to switch to palliative care, essentially trying to make her as comfortable as possible while no longer aggressively fighting the cancer. Most of this information reached me via e-mail or Facebook message from my mom, yet I remained hopeful. The gravity of the situation finally hit me on October 6, when I received an e-mail from my mom. Grandma had lost feeling in her legs. That is the day that I absolutely deteriorated. Picture a person curled up in a ball in the corner of a room sobbing uncontrollably and then times that by four. That was me.

The next month proved extremely difficult as I attempted to experience Cameroon while simultaneously trying to remain connected with my family, supporting them in any way possible. When I finally received word that my grandma had passed away, I can assure you that I was not at peace. At first, I was glad that my grandma was not suffering. Then, I was immediately angry that I was not with my family. Then, I was scared. I was already overly emotional on a daily basis. What would happen to me next? Could I still function? What was I supposed to do? This is when I realized beyond a shadow of a doubt that I would always, and I mean ALWAYS, need my family. Even from over 6,000 miles away, they remained my rock. My family seemed to play a game of “Who gets to Skype Beccah today?” My sister-in-law also set up Skype at my grandma’s memorial service so that I could watch it and feel like I was at least a part of it.

For these reasons, I know that my heart rests forever in Indiana (and wherever my family decides to disperse to). But, at the same time, I know that I can leave again in full confidence that my family will find a way to remain just that: a family. We are far from perfect. We are not always happy with each other. But we are part of a shared identity. We are the grandchildren of a beautiful woman who taught us to have an insatiable love of learning and an unquenchable thirst for God. I know that this is a bond formed on earth and in heaven. Even as we begin to slowly move farther and farther from home, one thing remains: we are family.