Last Days

I am so sad to be leaving and the fear of being overcome with tears has been eating at me all day; I have succeeded in swallowing it down. Saying good-bye this morning was hard, though the children are accustomed to seeing us come and go. I got a nice picture of Luba leaning back in her chair.
Today's craft was, in our director Nadia's words, "a hit." We took Polaroid photographs of them and had them make little frames covered in glitter and sequins. They loved it; they love having their pictures taken, and it was especially important for me and one of the other volunteers to be able to "give back" a photo for all the ones they gave us by posing. As soon as someone spotted a camera, all the children began to pose like crazy. Dasha would always magically appear in my lens when I took a picture of other kids.
We finally got to play outside today. The kids were bundled up and we all got to hang out in the cold playground.
When we were leaving, I spotted a little boy on the third floor. Behind the bars on the old, white, crumbling building. He waved at me. And I waved back and choked up.
It was hard also to say good-bye to Richard, a volunteer with whom I fell a little bit in love this week, despite the fact that he is 49, has a thick Alabama accent, and is of course married with three kids. We felt like comrades, since the two of us were the only "short timers" on staff, and both sweated and fussed and panicked over our projects and a small problem we had with another volunteer. Yes, I will miss Richard, with his Bill Clinton accent and nose.
I will be forced to say "Dasvidanya" to the others tonight at dinner. I have already promised Paul and Ally that I will come back.
Tonight, I take the overnight train to St. Petersberg and walking through the streets this afternoon, buying postcards and snapping away like mad on the camera borrrowed from the office, I cannot help but feel a very deep and painful aching to stay.