This isn't funny. Just kind of real.

Today, I had a lovely Skype session with my dear friend Megan.
She was my roommate in Tanzania and has just returned to spend a month there.
When she arrived, I asked her to check on Rosie.  (The little girl with Spina Bifida, she's adorable, cute cheeks, wheel chair, watched her stand up for the first time. Refer to 80% of my blog posts)
Today, Megan told me that Rosie is no longer attending school at Hill Crest.
Her mother was taking the money intended to bring Rosie to rehab, and using it to buy a shop.  So Rosie is also no longer attending rehab.
My heart sank.
I think it sank even deeper because I wasn't surprised to hear this news.
Taking care of Rosie was something I felt I was meant to do.
But what was it worth?

My mom once told me a story from when she was a kid.
(At least this is how I remember the story, my mom will probably read this and then inform me that I told it wrong. But here's how it goes as best as I can recall)
Her mom, my granny, saw some stray puppies on the side of the road.
She brought them home, gave them a bath, de-fleed them, fed them, and let the kids play with them.
And then she put them back on the side of the  road.
For a day, the puppies had a home.
But then they returned to their inevitable fate.
Now, don't go getting angry at Granny, this was the 60's and she just wanted to bring her kids some joy. And she thought she was doing right by the puppies by giving them a meal.

Everything looks different in retrospect.
I look back on my time with Rosie, and I wonder if I treated her like she was a stray puppy. Did I just delay the inevitable? After standing up for the first time at 5 years old, and finally getting leg braces, will she now just live her life as a person with no use of her legs? Did I help her or did I hurt her?

I have the sweetest friends and family. I am constantly being encouraged and supported. I appreciate that. But I am anticipating that when I post this, I will have people commenting on it, blindly saying, "no, you did the right thing!"  And that is so nice, but I truly don't know if I did. Before I left Tanzania, I was talking to my friend Melissa, whom I greatly respect. She said, "you know, what we're doing here is really mean. We come here for a few months , and we love these kids. And we let them love us. And then we leave. We tell them we care and we leave. That sucks." She was right. That does suck.

And I don't actually expect to come to any conclusions here. And I don't even have some poignant philosophical thought. And my heart hasn't changed. I still miss those kids. I'm still so glad I went. I still want to go back.
But it's all selfishly.
It's all selfish.
I spent the most amazing months of my life on Tanzania, living with little and loving my kids.
Now I am sitting on my couch writing this on my iPhone.
I drove to work in my brand new car, and I got myself Starbucks this morning.
And it is in these moments that I hate myself.
Just a little.
Just the tiniest bit.
And not in a self loathing, I-really-hate-myself kind of way.

I just hate that I am more of a product than a human being.
I hate that Rosie's life has returned to even worse than what it was when I got there. At least she was  in school before I met her. If I hadn't tried to help her, she  might still be there.
I hate that I haven't changed the world, like I planned to.
And more than anything, I hate that the world has changed me.