Disappearance

"All will be well
Even after all the promises you've broken to yourself
All will be well
You can ask me how but only time will tell
You can ask me how but only time will tell."
 - "All Will Be Well", by The Gabe Dixon Band


If I were to give a high and a low from the past two weeks, my low would be having two people disappear on me within four days.

Necia, a photographer from the States, came on a short trip to teach photography to the boys and girls of Casa Gabriel and Adalia. One day she and I took the boys to a nearby park to shoot photos. One of the boys, Moises,who has a tendency to be in his own world, started wandering away from the group. I ran after him and he said he wanted to get some photos of the street. I said sure, but we're going to leave by 6:15, okay? He nodded and headed off.

6:15 came and Moises was nowhere to be seen. We searched and called. One of the boys, Carlos, even asked a policeman if he had seen him. Meanwhile, it was getting dark, and we were each carrying a camera, including Necia's very large and expensive one. Though it was hidden in her satchel, it was getting less and less safe to be out, let alone with expensive equipment. Three times I called the Casa Gabriel house-dad to see if Moises had already gone home, but no answer. Finally I made the decision to get the rest of us home without him, willing to go back out and search for Moises if needed.

When I told the house-dad what happened, he nodded, suspecting that Moises had taken off to see a friend who used to live at Casa Gabriel. This turned out to be correct, and Moises returned home safely, camera and all, later that evening. The next day when I returned to Casa G, the first thing Carlos said to me was, "Are you okay? Are you better now?" He knew how concerned I had been. I assured him that yes, I was much better.

That Sunday Necia, Rachel and I put together a photo exhibition to show off the student's work. We put hours of effort into mounting each photo, measuring the walls so as to place hooks at equal heights, printing name tags, baking cookies, and hanging the art in the Youth World office. Many people from Youth World came to support the student's work. The evening was a huge success. Then a girl from Casa Adalia disappeared.

"Hey, where is 'Ana'?" Rachel asked. We began to search throughout the office. We asked if people had seen her. Nothing. Ana was gone.

Rachel and I were in black dresses and heels for the event, yet we walked up and down the streets around the office, searching and calling. Over two hours later, we would finally receive a phone call saying Ana had made it home to Casa Adalia. Ana was dealing with a lot of things, including the death of her cousin, and had felt smothered in the crowd. Instead of seeking out someone who would have gone for a walk with her or sat down and talked about things, she had taken off. Because she had run off and returned once before, the house-mom and other staff members - who were supposed to be looking out for her - were not concerned. To me, that was one of the most difficult parts of the ordeal: feeling all of this concern for a person who disappeared alone at night, who has a history of self-harm, and having only Rachel and a couple of other people feel the same level of worry.

The next day I went to Casa Adalia. Two friends who were at the photo exhibition immediately asked the same question as Carlos: "Are you okay? Are you better now? We were worried about you."

There might be a sense of irony in being so concerned that other people are more concerned for you than for the situation. So it was reassuring to have the directors of both homes, Phil and Debbie, tell me and Rachel, "Thank you for not under-reacting." Because although Ana did make it home that night, she was mugged along the way. A man with a knife demanded her purse. As upsetting as the whole ordeal was from start to finish, I hope Ana learned that she can't simply run off without consequences to her safety and to the concern of others who care about her.


I keep thinking about my friends who came up to me the next day and asked, "Are you better now?" I've been wondering: was my concern over-done? Should I have been more laid-back, thinking that surely these youth would make it home okay and I shouldn't worry? Instead I keep thinking ... No. If it was my sibling, my friend, anyone I was with or had any kind of responsibility for, I would feel the same. So why did they think it was okay to simply disappear?

Phil summed it up perfectly: "They've never had someone who looked out for them before. They've grown up with alcoholic parents who didn't notice or care about their whereabouts. They have to learn that people actually care about them and are worried for their safety."


"Are you okay? Are you better now?" Yes, I am. I had two people disappear on me in four days, but they came back. They are okay. They learned that people will worry about them, and I was reminded of how much my concern can effect the people around me.We're all meant to connect and care. Sometimes, concern can act as a reminder. For that, I'm thankful.