A Day Trip

As I sit at my desk, trying to manage the latest of many bumps in the road as I attempt to bring the youth drama that I have been working on for the past five months to the stage (I keep repeating the old adage “nothing worth doing is easy” to myself), my mind wandered back to a day trip that I took this past weekend.  A family that I am friends with invited me and another volunteer to take a road trip with them to Sveti Naum in Macedonia and two cities in Albania.  I am sharing a few photos from our adventures below:

Sveti Naum

A view inside the courtyard of the monastery at Sveti Naum.

A Sveti Naum selfie!

A Sveti Naum selfie!

A view of the monastery roof and sky.

A view of the monastery roof and sky.

Crystal clear lake water - I can't wait until it is warm enough to go swimming!

Crystal clear lake water – I can’t wait until it is warm enough to go swimming!

This little cafe is perched right on the lake (Albanian side).  What a view!

This little cafe is perched right on the lake in Pogradec (Albanian side). What a view!

This house is where the Albanian film

This house is where the Albanian film “Zonja nga Qyteti” (the woman from the city) was filmed. There is a statue of the protagonist of the film located in front of the house (not pictured). It was mobbed by school children on a school trip!

Tushemisht is a quaint village outside of Pogradec in Albania.  The houses are colorful and gardens and intricate gates abound.

Tushemisht is a quaint village outside of Pogradec in Albania. The houses are colorful and gardens and intricate gates abound.

This is a view from the tower located in the center of the Albanian city of Korca.  You can see the Resurrection Cathedral at the end of the tree lined road.

This is a view from the tower located in the center of the Albanian city of Korca. You can see the Resurrection Cathedral at the end of the tree lined road.

This is Resurrection Cathedral (formerly Saint George Cathedral).  Saint George Cathedral was destroyed by communist authorities in the 1960s.  Resurrection Cathedral was built in the 1990s where St. Cathedral once stood.

This is Resurrection Cathedral (formerly Saint George Cathedral). Saint George Cathedral was destroyed by communist authorities in the 1960s. Resurrection Cathedral was built in the 1990s where St. George Cathedral once stood.

This is a notable Albanian language school, located in Korca. It was founded in 1887 and designed to allow Albanians to be educated in their native language and to push back against the Greek and Ottoman influences in the region.

This is a notable Albanian language school, located in Korca. It was founded in 1887 and designed to allow Albanians to be educated in their native language and to push back against the Greek and Ottoman influences in the region.

An example of some beautiful architecture to be found in Korca.

An example of some of the beautiful architecture that can be found in Korca.

There and Back Again

In late April, I received a message from my sister.

“Hi Rach, can you call me?  It’s important.”

Two days and a few phone calls later, I was on a flight back to America.  My father, a healthy and active man, was in the hospital and was fighting what appeared to be a losing battle for his life.  I could not come to terms with the fact that one of the most stable and dependable people in my life was slipping away, and that I was going to have to try to live and function in a world that did not include him. Just a week earlier, we had been discussing his plans to visit me in Macedonia – his first trip abroad.

The next two weeks passed in a surreal blur, broken up by alternating waves of emotions. Hope and despair followed after each other in a seemingly endless cycle.  As a family, we hung on every word spoken by his nurses and doctors, fear filling our hearts when we would hear the words “I’m sorry.”

I remember holding dad’s hand, hoping that he did not notice the tears that streaked my face.  He still had a firm grip and would squeeze my hand to communicate. He was subjected to long monologues from all of us, which he seemed to tolerate well enough, even when I ran out of topics and babbled on about mundane, silly matters. We became friends with the other families who spent their hours and days in the trauma ward.  In a hospital complex so large that guides were employed, I became a kind of unofficial guide myself, helping others as they attempted to navigate its numerous wards.  My niece and nephew, too young to go to the hospital, kept asking about their grandfather “Pa”, and whether he was better yet.

There were moments of desperate humor, such as when my father spelled “Get me out of here” when we asked him if he needed anything. On the worst night, when the doctors had asked us to leave dad’s room and to prepare ourselves for the fact that he was unlikely to live through the night, I felt as though a giant vise had squeezed all emotion and tears out of me; all that was left was an empty hysteria.  As we settled into the waiting room, my brother Jason suggested that I rest on the couch.  For some reason we thought it necessary to clean the couch first, and used Clorox bleach wipes to wipe it down.  I was about to lie down when I realized that the bleach from the wipes would probably bleach my clothes.  I have no idea how or why I was capable of even thinking of anything so mundane. After days of sorrow and fear, the ridiculousness of this mundane thought struck Jason and me as hilarious and we smiled a little insanely at each other.

Dad made it through that night, and another, and another.  After a number of surgeries and a few days of stable vital signs, dad’s surgeon – a self-declared “realist” – declared that he was realistically optimistic that dad would recover. Perhaps it sounds strange, but my confidence in the surgeon’s words came one day when dad and I watched (well, dad napped a bit) a marathon of Indiana Jones movies – film staples in our family. It felt like a glimmer of normalcy.  With each day that passed, we could see progress.  Fewer and fewer medications hung around dad’s bed.

Eighteen days after I arrived in America, I boarded my flight back to Macedonia. Doubt about my decision hung heavy in my mind – though the doctors assured us that dad was on the road to recovery- he was being moved to another, less intensive floor and he was about to begin working with a physical therapist; I was worried that something would happen.  I had no idea whether I had made the right decision to return to my service.

Thanks to technology (Wifi is abundant in Macedonia).  I can regularly check-in on dad – and even to FaceTime with him.  A week has passed since I left the U.S., but in terms of dad’s recovery, he has made huge strides (literally – he is able to get up and walk with some assistance) forward.  Six months from now, I will return home to America and I am incredibly grateful that I will get to hug my dad, just like I did when I left for this adventure two years ago.

...especially when it comes to food!

We both make a good crazy face for the camera – it’s genetic!

We both make a good crazy face for the photo - it's a genetic talent!

…especially when it comes to food!