He's gone.
Well, not really.
He's still out there. He still exists.
I'm just not his sponsor any more. Alok's project was closed, due to issues that did not align with Compassion's policies. He is out of my reach. The little reach that I had.
During the waiting period after finding out that it was likely to happen, I wrote Alok many "last letters" saying things that I wanted to make sure someone would tell him at least one more time in his life.
He may stay a little boy forever in my mind, but it would make me happiest to believe he grew up, that those few years he had were enough to direct him into a lifetime of growing up.
His pictures are still displayed on my wall. It makes me sad to think that there will be no more infrequent letters to update me on his life, no new picture in a year, showing his awkward growth spurt, and his determined face, and he will no longer receive letters telling him how much I love his determination, how handsome he is, or Christmas or birthday presents. Losing Alok is something I have been preparing myself to handle for a while now, but there are those pangs of sadness, those moments when I find the perfect little gift for him, or start mentally writing him a letter.
But he is not dead. It is weird, mourning the loss of someone who is still alive. Probably, to many minds, weirder still to mourn the loss of someone who has never been mine to lose. It's not something I really could explain anyway. I have no rights to him, no ability to protect him, but from the first day his picture appeared on my account, he has always been "my boy" complete with scuffed knees, and brief letters.
He was the first child to ever call me Auntie. He did so on a video that a fellow sponsor took of him when she was in India and took him to a science museum.
He was so thrilled by the museum. Alok was entranced by the aquarium. Every time I visit a museum, I wish he was there with me.
He once told me that his favorite thing about being at the Compassion project was the food, the games, and that no one beat him there. It relieved and broke my heart all at once.
The first real smile I got from him in a picture was with the second soccer ball he got as a gift from me. Ever since then, I've had this mental picture of him tearing up the dirt after his soccer ball full speed and determination, getting coated in dirt, earning those knee scuffs.
I'll miss my boy. I miss him already. I keep praying for him. I pray that God will wrap around him tightly, and protect him. I pray that Alok will passionately love and serve God. I pray that he will treat women with kindness and respect. I pray that he will not be taken in by the alcohol addictions so rampant in his area. I pray that God will protect him and comfort him beyond any beatings he may still endure.
He is out of my reach, but never out of God's. That is one of the hardest things to remember about life in general. It's easier to remember when it is the only option to accept.
Alok, never forget that you are valuable. God values you. I value you. You are loved and so very loveable. I pray that there are so many more in your life who feel the same way.
Play hard, my boy. Grow up strong, Alok.
Grow up kind and godly. Grow up wise and filled with integrity. Grow up compassionate and inspired.
Most of all, keep growing up.
Well, not really.
He's still out there. He still exists.
 |
| Alok circa age 5-6 |
I'm just not his sponsor any more. Alok's project was closed, due to issues that did not align with Compassion's policies. He is out of my reach. The little reach that I had.
He may stay a little boy forever in my mind, but it would make me happiest to believe he grew up, that those few years he had were enough to direct him into a lifetime of growing up.
His pictures are still displayed on my wall. It makes me sad to think that there will be no more infrequent letters to update me on his life, no new picture in a year, showing his awkward growth spurt, and his determined face, and he will no longer receive letters telling him how much I love his determination, how handsome he is, or Christmas or birthday presents. Losing Alok is something I have been preparing myself to handle for a while now, but there are those pangs of sadness, those moments when I find the perfect little gift for him, or start mentally writing him a letter.
But he is not dead. It is weird, mourning the loss of someone who is still alive. Probably, to many minds, weirder still to mourn the loss of someone who has never been mine to lose. It's not something I really could explain anyway. I have no rights to him, no ability to protect him, but from the first day his picture appeared on my account, he has always been "my boy" complete with scuffed knees, and brief letters.
He was the first child to ever call me Auntie. He did so on a video that a fellow sponsor took of him when she was in India and took him to a science museum.
He was so thrilled by the museum. Alok was entranced by the aquarium. Every time I visit a museum, I wish he was there with me.
He once told me that his favorite thing about being at the Compassion project was the food, the games, and that no one beat him there. It relieved and broke my heart all at once.
The first real smile I got from him in a picture was with the second soccer ball he got as a gift from me. Ever since then, I've had this mental picture of him tearing up the dirt after his soccer ball full speed and determination, getting coated in dirt, earning those knee scuffs.
I'll miss my boy. I miss him already. I keep praying for him. I pray that God will wrap around him tightly, and protect him. I pray that Alok will passionately love and serve God. I pray that he will treat women with kindness and respect. I pray that he will not be taken in by the alcohol addictions so rampant in his area. I pray that God will protect him and comfort him beyond any beatings he may still endure.
He is out of my reach, but never out of God's. That is one of the hardest things to remember about life in general. It's easier to remember when it is the only option to accept.
Alok, never forget that you are valuable. God values you. I value you. You are loved and so very loveable. I pray that there are so many more in your life who feel the same way.
Play hard, my boy. Grow up strong, Alok.
Grow up kind and godly. Grow up wise and filled with integrity. Grow up compassionate and inspired.
Most of all, keep growing up.
