A Tribute

In 1995, I was a junior in high school at the Northfield Mount Hermon School in western Massachusetts. I spent four years immersed in one of the most fantastic environments for education. I lived with my teachers and friends in a place where there was never a lack of encouragement and support. 

We had choices in the classes that we took, choices that extended beyond what language we decided to study, and we had limited choices in the teachers who taught the subjects we were most drawn to. One of the classes where there was little or no choice was English class. At the start of each year we would tear into our schedules with anticipation to see who we would be spending the next year of the academic year with in English class. Some teachers were infamous for their English classes. One of those women was Audrey Sheats. 

Audrey was known as being tough. Really tough. And not just in the assignments she gave, but in a tough love kind of way. I remember my heart sinking when I opened my schedule on an otherwise perfect September afternoon at registration to see that it was with Audrey that I would spend the next year of English class with. Thankfully, my roommate and best friend Erin was also placed in her class so I knew I would have solace in at least her presence. 

The first book Audrey assigned was The Sound and The Fury. The first assignment was merely chapter one. Sa-weet, I thought, chapter one? That's it? How can she possibly be as bad as everyone says? But I was young and naive and had never read any Faulkner, let alone a book like The Sound and The Fury. 

Walking into her class that first day I saw a group of faces who were equally as confused as I. What, on earth, was that chapter about? And didn't she know we were juniors in high school and not English lit majors in college???? I began to get the sinking feeling that I was in for a year of..well...hell. 

How delightfully wrong I was. Audrey lived up to her reputation of being remarkably difficult in terms of how she stretched and exercised our brains. An hour in her class was exhausting, but over the course of the first weeks of the semester, I realized just how lucky I was to be part of this experience. She was hard because she knew just what 16 year old brains are capable of when given the right coaxing. She was hard because she lived and breathed and loved the books she chose. We meandered through the Sound and the Fury, A Yellow Raft on Blue Water and myriad other titles she chose for us that year. Over spring break, we chose our own book to read and do an independent study for. I chose Love in the Time of Cholera, mostly because of her suggestion to me. Gabriel Garcia Marquez continues to be one of my favorite authors to this day. 

I found myself, over the course of the year, looking forward to class with Audrey. I knew never to arrive unprepared or I would face the wrath of her stern verbal lashings. Toward the end of the year, when students were deciding whether to apply for some of the AP classes NMH offered, Audrey approached me and asked about my plans for AP English. I remember looking down and saying I had not really thought about it, but didn't think I would get in. Her eyes lit up and she took my hand and told me how wrong I was. That it was in Louise Schwingle's AP English class the following year that she saw me. I lacked confidence in those days, but she reached me. She believed in me, and she told me that. She said it would be a waste of a year if I did not try. 

Lo and behold, it was in Louise's class where I found myself the following September. Just as Audrey has envisioned. And it was another breath taking year of a class with another woman who I've come to realize meant to much in my continued education. When I sat for the AP exam toward the end of my senior year, I wrote my essay on Love in the Time of Cholera and scored a 5 on the exam, all thanks to Audrey. 

I read, with a very heavy heart, this morning that Audrey passed away this past January. It gave me great pause and allowed me a chance to reflect on the four years I spent at NMH, the people who have continued to influence me, and the profound loss her passing is on the community. Audrey was tough and passionate and caring and intellectual and supportive. She inspired confidence in me and she will be missed.

Friends

We get lost in life. We get lost easily. In work, in relationships, in the grind. We also have those rare nights when we're reminded of just how fantastic life is. We surround ourselves in all of those things that are meant to be fulfilling--everything that makes life...life.

In these hard economic times, we forget the simple things. The beauty of spring, the sun on our faces, coming home after a day of doc review to cats, who, may or may not, love us unconditionally.

Most importantly, we sometimes forget the power of laughter, and friendship, and love.

I've met a lot of people in my life, and I've held on to friends from most phases of growing up. Facebook makes it easier, but the true friends are those who you make an effort to see, to connect with on a basis that exists beyond the world of the internets.

One of my favorite people from law school is back in D.C. this weekend, and we had the opportunity to bring a group of folks together, some of whom I've not seen since graduation. And for the second time in a week, I found myself sitting, surrounded by some of the most astoundingly brilliant people I know, laughing. Good and hard. Hard like a rain that comes after a drought. Hard to the point of tears. Hard to the point of reminding yourself that you are alive.

There is nothing more healing than laughter, particularly that that comes from the heart. And there is nothing more conducive to that than sitting with people who just understand. They understand that we're lucky to have jobs, but hate the jobs we're in. Who appreciate the humor in immoral clients when we were promised that we would never work for immoral people again. Who, at the very core, understand the inner struggle of wanting to make a name for ourselves, but also crave those dusty lands that exist in Kenya, Afghanistan, Darfur and beyond. Who support when they don't even know just how supportive they're being.

Life is good. But it is hard. We struggle individually with things that go unsaid. Family, loans, unemployment, fear of being unemployed, fear of not knowing of this is where we're meant to land.

But collectively, we laugh. And support.

Tonight, I looked up at my group of friends who had gathered, and was touched, and thrilled and giddy in knowing that these people, this fabulous group of people, were mine. Not in a possessive sense, but in a comforting sense. We closed the restaurant down, laughing until our stomachs hurt, and we moved on, jovial, without having the day to day questions running through our minds.

Life can be uncertain, and it, right now, is quite shaky. Most of us wake up unsure of what the next answer will be. But the comfort, the great hope, the overwhelming joy exists in knowing that we are part of a group of people who get it.

I am blessed with the people with whom I call my friends. And I know whatever comes down the line, I will always have them.

Review

I don't really re-read what I post on here too often. Occasionally, if I need a dose of perspective I'll take a tour through the posts I wrote while in the refugee camp, but it's rare I revisit my musings.

But I was looking at a program that shows the page views etc of this blog and I noticed a blog that had linked to mine that I had never read. So I went to check it out. It's called likeridingabicycle.blogspot.com and it's a blog of a good blog buddy of mine. I read this woman's post that mirrored my experience with my client that I had shared some of last year. And she linked to a couple of my posts that described the hearing in April 2008 and the fallout from that. I went back and re-read what I wrote, and read what she wrote, and it made me remarkably emotional.

It's amazing how easily you push down past experiences, carrying them with you, and move forward and selectively remember (or forget) the details that are the most difficult. And for the first time, I'm truly grateful I've had this living website where I can go back and read through some of my past, and allow those posts to let me feel like I am back in the moment.

I don't live my life with regrets, and I've been reminded of that today. It's still hard. And it's still sad. But it's life. And the only thing you can do is live it fully.

The News of a Passing

I was walking through Adams Morgan with my friend S on Saturday and we were chatting about the recent plane crash in Buffalo killing 50 people. I had read a little about it, what a tragedy of grand proportions, but had not fastidiously kept up on the news over the past week so only digested the snippets I caught in passing.

S asked me if I had read any of the bios of the victims, specifically the woman who was big into international aid work. I had not, though had heard there was an 9/11 widow on there, I'd not heard about anyone else and I doubted I would have any idea who the international aid person was.

As we walked out of the coffee shop we passed a stack of NY Times, and S picked it up and to my shock and profound sadness, I saw that the woman S was referring to was Alison Des Forges, the leading scholar and activist on Rwanda and a tireless of advocate before, during and after the genocide on international recognition and accountability.

When I was representing my asylum seeking client this past year, we had to build an army of experts to write affidavits in support of our client's story. This meant hours upon hours of research, cold calling, lots of emails, follow up emails, follow up follow up emails, normally resulting in1 out of about 15 responses to our begging for these people to let us explain our client's story. We found Alison's name early in the semester, and searched and searched for a way to find HER. The more we read the more we knew that it would be next to impossible to get someone of her expertise and her notoriety to ever speak with us about our little case, but we vowed to spend the semester trying.

Midway through the semester, we had a meeting with a woman who works for State who had been the acting ambassador from the US to Rwanda at the time of the genocide. She met with us over lunch, and spoke frankly about her experience, while listening to the story of our client. She asked who else we had spoken to, so we went through the list and at the end added the fact that we were trying to get in touch with Alison Des Forges, but we were having no luck finding any contact information.

The woman paused, and told us she would email Alison for us, and she could choose if she wanted to get in touch with us. And lo and behold, a few days later, she emailed us. It was an email explaining why she ultimately could not give us an affidavit or testimony, and wishing us luck, and our client luck. It was a gesture that was generous and at the time, while sleep deprived having only read anything about Rwanda for weeks, it was like getting a communication from God.

When I realized it was Alison Des Forges on that plane to Buffalo, I had to pause for a moment to collect myself. She was a woman to be emulated and her work affected millions of people and saved lives. She was the kind of human being we all should aspire to be, and is certainly the kind I will work to become for the rest of my life.

Passion

When was the last time you felt truly alive? Truly passionate about something? Was it yesterday? Maybe a month ago? As long as a year?

I've had the good fortune to experience things that make me passionate almost every....day, dare I say, from coming home from Mali. Passions differ-the intensity, the drive, the reason you want to feel passionate about something.

And I've taken to re-reading some of the things I wrote so long ago in 2006 when I was in Dadaab, and I feel that fire rekindling. I love challenges, I relish in them. I love being told that something is not quite reachable, and finding a way to do it. The opportunities don't come along very often. Peace Corps was one of them. And I persevered to be able to see the beauty in a group of women who had never been given the chance to take control of themselves. Dadaab was even more profound. The stimulation of giving yourself so wholly to other people, to do the very little a single person can do to alleviate suffering..it's euphoric and it's something I've not experienced in a long time.

I believe people individually have a greater calling. I re-read To Kill A Mockingbird this past summer, and I see that my father's greater calling is equality in representation, and compassion in that. I see my mother's being the divine ability to comfort children, parents, her kids and absolute strangers. My sister? My god, where do I begin? Her joy is extends beyond education, it encompasses all that is great and beautiful about human nature. She is a savior, and a kindred soul, and someone who is as generous and loving as anyone else in the world. And my brother, who loves loves loves the way he knows how, and is a protector, and confidante and a really remarkable friend.

And I struggle to find my place in that, even though in my heart of hearts I know exactly where it is. I'm not quitting my job, and I'm not doing anything drastic, but I'm clawing myself back to where I feel my own identity resides, which is in humanitarian aid.

I've spoken about my girlfriends many a time on this blog, and I love them more than any words could convey. And this past week our group has suffered a tremendous loss, a loss of one of our mothers. And my, how sad that journey has been. To see the devastation of one of our closest, our darlings, our sisters. And to know that we have the power to heal only in our own power to love, and sometimes that's not enough. And I am the most at ease, even when in tears outside the National Press Club building, comforting my friend, being an outlet.

The world of corporate law is not for me. I will never complain about the opportunity, or that I have a job, but my goodness does it make me feel vacant, and lonely.

I am the child of my parents. I have been raised in a manner that celebrates selflessness and compassion. And I think I'm just striving to get back to where I'm finally able to feel that within myself again.

Chirp...Chirp...

This is the second post that's starting with "So it's been a long time...". But this time it really really has. And I have plenty of excuses for that...

But none of those will be written about, at least not immediately. I've been thinking a lot of about the trajectory of my life as of late. Thinking is the operative word, because I've certainly not been having deep discussions about it with family or many friends. I've thought about what makes us happy, and what makes me happy.

Doing well at work. Those days are good. Really good. Particularly when you've only been doing something for 5 months and those days are relative dots in the landscape of being lost in the weeds trying to look up and see the light shining through. I've had a couple of those really good days in the last 5 months. But they have yet to be quite prominent in the grand scheme of things.

I've thought a lot about my former client, as well. Her daughter turned one a couple of weeks ago, and I marked the day thinking that it had been one year when the single greatest learning experience of my life began at the same time as what would turn out to be devastating, demoralizing and just plain maddening. I've thought about it because I realize that those 8 months spent representing her, as hard and at time trying as they were, made me feel truly great. I compare it to what I'm doing now and have a sense of...longing, I suppose.

I don't know if any of you guys noticed (or if any of you guys ever check this anymore), but since the last time I wrote our economy is kind of in the toilet. Now is not the time when sane people start looking for new jobs. Now is the time when the people who have lost their jobs scoop those open jobs up and the rest of us shut up, keep our heads down and be thankful that we're still sitting behind a desk. And don't get me wrong, I am remarkably thankful. More so than I could possibly put into words (though, knowing me, I'll likely try at some point). But I've made the decision to start the process of finding a job doing what I love more than corporate transactional work, and I'm pretty stoked about it.

So. There you have it. Not the most earth shattering post from my 5 month hiatus, but we have to start somewhere, right?

Things to be Said

I've been gone. A long time. Last night doesn't count. I had been out at a wedding a long time.

But that wedding made me think about things. About pure love. And happiness. And here is what I realized: Love does not make us happy, we make us happy. Love enhances the great lives we all live, but it does not define us. Yes, we are complete with the person we love, the one person we choose, but we are not they.

I looked at Karen and Jeff this weekend, and was overwhelmed with emotion. Two people who love each other so dearly is powerful to see. It didn't make me sad for what I don't have, it didn't make we wish for something in the future. It made me ecstatic about right now.

I stood, on the balcony of the Kennedy Center, looking out at the vista, this amazing scene, and I was so happy. And hopeful.

Here is to the couples who love, laugh, struggle, fight, scream and love again. I am blessed to be in so many of your presences.

Anxiety

I don't even know if I spelled anxiety right. But for the loyal readers here we go.

I had brunch with a great friend today. And it was great, and lovely, and sad. Sad because we spoke about the men we loved and lost. Not lost in that kind of "poof, they're gone" kinda way, but poof, wow, they're married. Poof, here we are. Wait, where are we?

Poof, Here I Am. I am an attorney. (no, shut up, I am). Poof, she is the head of Senate Appropriations. Poof. here we are.

I feel like sometimes we do what we don't want...but we learn, grow, and love from it. And we land where we do. I miss being in love. I do. but it will come (I say) and when it does it will be awesome.

Acceptance

My representation of my client is now over. It ended in an ugly, no holds barred kind of fight. And it was demoralizing.

My partner and I were accused of many egregious things, most of which I care not to discuss ever again. Many of which hurt me to my core. We clearly lost. But it was a bad loss. One that we could never have predicted. I remain hurt, and distracted. And feeling guilty, for some reason.

In this life, we have the opportunity to help people. To make a difference. We can make a difference in one person's life. And I attempted that, to my own peril. We take chances, we make decisions--we bet our stakes on things. We hope they work out, that there's some payoff to our own sacrifices. But inherently we know that sometimes we lose.

We lost yesterday in court. And we lost badly. We lost in a way that was degrading, and sad and wrong. We lost because of the immigration system. I wondered, as I held my client, sobbing, if risking my passing the bar exam was worth it. I missed classes, didn't write essays--I put my own professional career in peril. And I did it because of the conviction of what we were doing was right.

And I know, in my heart of hearts, I would do the same thing again with no thought. If you want details about yesterday, email me. I can't go into here because it's too painful. But there is something empowering working the hardest you've ever worked for someone other than yourself.

I am sad. And I am hurt. And I might not pass the bar exam. But I will never regret the work I've done to date, and I will never regret working for my client.

Life, I think, is about our relationships with other people. What you gain from them, and what you learn about yourself in the process. Sometimes it's wholly positive. Other times it takes a little more to find the truth. My truth right now is that I made the right decision--I will never regret that.

Reading

So, I have this amazing bookshelf filled with wonderful books, many I have yet to read, now that I've fully unpacked. I have received books at every major holiday from friends and family over the past three years, have continued to buy them if they seem compelling, and occasionally get them as random gifts in the mail. However, it's rare that I have time to sit down and read for pleasure-- I was at the beach in May I read "The Other Bolyen Girl" which was wildly entertaining (the movie is horrid), even though it is basically a trashy romance novel disguised as historical fiction (aren't those the best though???!!!).

Anyway--the past month has been a fury of work and very little down time--I feel like I've been moving at warp speed since January, and even when I sleep it's generally quite restless and disturbed. It's hard to wind down when you've been shuffling back and forth between major tasks for 18 hours a day, and I've been trying to find ways to let my brain kind of release before I turn the lights out. I've tried watching a mindless 22 minute tv show online many a time, though that has yet to work.

So the other night, I was perusing my bookshelf just to see all the great books I had to look forward to when I zeroed in on a book my Uncle sent me out of the blue this past semester. I had not had a chance to start it, though he described it as a book that could be read in small intervals and would be highly entertaining. I picked it up and thought I'd give it a shot.

So the book is called Anonymous Lawyer, and it's by a young Harvard Law grad who began a fictitious blog by the same name. The premise is that that book is written by a hiring partner in a major law firm in a major city at the start of the Summer Associate season, and it's written partly in blog format, and partly in emails between Anonymous Lawyer and his niece, Anonymous Niece.

It's HILARIOUS. And frankly, for anyone who has ever been, is currently, or is planning on being a summer associate in a BigLaw firm, it's frighteningly true to life. And for all the non-lawyers out there, if you've suffered through summers or three years with a loved one or friend (or anonymous blogger you've never met who may, or may not, occasionally blog about the trials of law school and firm life) and want a glimpse into some of the ridiculousness experienced, you have to check this book out. While I have been laughing out loud at a lot of different "posts", I've also been silently cringing knowing that there is more truth to his account than there is fiction.

So. While it's not The History of the World in 7 volumes, it's what I'm reading right now. And many thanks to my uncle who sent it to me! The past few nights I've been sleeping better and better after reading before sleep--and be warned, you might just start getting your own emails from Anonymous Niece before too long :)

Uplifting

This is awesome. And so is this. Not just because I have a special place in my heart for the Kenyan refugee camps after working in one, or because it just goes to show every person who scoffs at more liberal immigration policies some of the remarkable individuals our immigration system as saved, but because the back story, particularly of Lopez Lomong, is a tremendous story celebrating the most remarkable aspects of humanity.

I know--the Olympics are filled with those heart wrenching public interest stories that make millions of people around the world silently tear up behind the pale glow of our televisions for three weeks every couple of years. But read Lomong's story differently this time--read it and ask if you would be that family in Syracuse, NY, or the elder children to the younger in Sudan. It's touching, and made me wonder if American teenagers, or anyone, would act in the same brotherly way if faced with such adversity.

I suppose even if the answer is "no" to all of the above, it's a good story nonetheless. Go USA!

Roots

I've had a friend staying with me the past 10 days--she and I were in Peace Corps together, and she just arrived back in the states after remaining in West Africa working since we finished in 2004. Since she's been with me, we've gone apartment hunting, furniture shopping, neighborhood sightseeing and we've caught up. And it's been great. I feel like I've been in this town long enough that you forget to get excited about the city, the neighborhoods, the newness of moving to a place after being away for so long. And it's been interesting to see her beginning to adjust to figuring out how to begin to plant roots here, and more important, how to adjust to being comfortable making decisions that will have a semi-permanent impact on where she's residing.

We were browsing the stores on 14th St today looking at furniture and homewares in some of my favorite places in the city. I found a lovely chair that I bought on impulse, she got ideas about how to slowly make her shiney new apartment her own. And as we walked out of one of the stores, she turned to me said "Now I have culture shock. This is the first time it's really set in". I asked her what she meant, and she said "it's the fact that I'm considering all this big furniture, this heavy hard to move furniture. How am I going to move it all?" I breezily replied, without much thought into her comment "Oh don't worry, all these places have delivery services--they move it for you!" She paused and said something more profound that the meaningless way in which I interpreted her comment "No, I mean, I'm buying big things, things I can't just throw in a bag and move when I'm ready to leave--I'm buying things that can't pack and travel--this feels final".

I know the way she's feeling, and I know the feelings she's struggling with. When I started law school I felt itchy and uncomfortable, thinking that this decision I was making meant that I HAD to plant roots--I could not just get up and walk away when I was ready for a new adventure. And I adjusted...until it ended. I cut off my hair a couple of weeks ago. As one unnamed person in my family once told me "honey, you're hair is your best asset". It was definitely time for a trim, it was looooong, and it's not fun to have long hair in this town in the summer because it becomes like a wool blanket. But instead of getting it trimmed, I lobbed off about 10 inches. It was liberating to a point, but it still felt...like something else needed to happen in conjunction.

I have been thinking about my decision since I did it, and was thinking about the last time I made a drastic styling decision. Exactly 6 years ago before I left the city to go to Peace Corps I walked into another fancy salon in town and had them do the same thing--cut it off--new style, new adventure. And I realized this time, the missing link is not having an adventure to go along with the style.

I've become more and more anxious about starting my job in the fall. I don't want to go back to where I'm heading, I don't know if I can live thorugh a year of working for the people who will be my bosses. Over the past month I've slowly realized the importance of joy, and happiness, and contentment in life. So, I've started exploring new options, sent some emails, have begun getting my ducks in a row, just in case I need that escape hatch if things become too bad. But unlike 6 years ago, I've also realized I've matured enough to realize that my roots no longer yank up as easily, and forcing them will merely cause peripheral destruction that is neither necessary or beneficial. But I don't think a change is far from coming-the winds are blowing in that direction as is my hair.

In Memory of My Grandma

On Sunday, June 1 2008, my grandmother passed away. It was a topic I wanted to wait and address on this blog, because I wanted to let the loss sink in and give my family who are loyal readers of this blog time to process. Today is her memorial service in Phoenix, AZ. My mom and dad are there, but I was not able to make the trip due to my bar exam studying and client representation.

My grandma was a wonderful woman--she was a tough cookie, and she held more love in her heart for her family than anyone I've ever met. She raised 4 amazing children and had 8 grandkids when she died. She will be deeply missed.

I paused this afternoon at 5pm EST, when the memorial service was beginning in AZ. I remembered the last conversation I had with her before my graduation. She never missed a family event, graduation, wedding, holiday, not until she was unable physically to be present. But talking to her made me know that she had the beaming smile on her face we all knew and loved.

I am posting below the tribute my sister wrote and I consulted in, adding my own favorite memories to her work, that was to be read this afternoon by my mom. I see my mom in my grandma, and see her as her own person as well. My mom has the same remarkably elegant grace in everything about her--her smile, her love, her compassion, her skin, her heart. I know I will see my grandma a little bit in my mom, and she will live on in our hearts through her family.

Losing her meant losing my last grandparent. But losing her also meant knowing there is one more angel on my side, and I will never take that for granted.

Clarice H Johnson

Clair was a lot of things to many fabulous people, but to the three of us she was our grandmother. Although we three were unable to attend this service we are celebrating her life with all of you in spirit. Spirit really should have been grandma’s middle name. Everything she did with us and for us was full of vivacity and grace, from teaching us the fine art of Estee Lauder makeup application (CD was always jealous of our rouged cheeks) to charming the wait staff at restaurants with broad smiles and anecdotes of her life.

She was a traveler who loved a good road trip, especially with her grandchildren. We grew up down the road from our three cousins, N, K and J, and grandma and grandpa took us in pairs on two week adventures over the course of a few summer vacations. CD and I traveled to Virginia theme parks, making stops along the way to visit grandma’s family. It was there that I learned to love the south, a trait that later became associated with my mother, Leigh. There CDand I were introduced to Stuckey’s Pecan Log Roll, sweltering summer heat and the charm of grandma’s southern accent blossoming over iced tea and magnolia trees. But the real treat were the matching shirts grandma ordered for the four of us from the back of a Tropicana orange juice carton. “It’s so we don’t get lost from each other.” She said as she handed us our new theme park uniform. I don’t know who was more humbled wearing the short sleeved- palm tree covered-Tropicana advertising-yellow button downs: CD or grandpa. But we never lost each other.

DLS and KRP went the following summer to Florida, where they canoodled with the Disney characters at meals and splashed among the many pools along their journey. Again, this was a driving trip, and they could always count on grandma to navigate them in the direction of close friends and family. Although this crew was sans matching shirts, they were not for want of good food and lots of laughs. At every restaurant grandma would chat up the waitress and tell her exactly what they were doing and where they were heading; she had an uncanny knack for making friends wherever she went. As you all know grandma was never at a loss to share stories of her four children and eight grandchildren. She also welcomed new arrivals to our family with more than open arms. It was not unusual for grandma to tell our friends that she loved them after meeting them for the first time. This is what our girlfriends, boyfriends, spouses and best friends all remember about grandma. Always the hand being held, a smile so big you couldn’t help but try to match it, and the comfort of knowing she would always love you.

She also shared her passion with us in the form of pie dough. Our mother was never much of a baker, so when grandma came to visit we knew we were in for a tasty baked delicacy. She was a patient and encouraging teacher, virtues that the three of us have come to embrace in our own adulthood. Pie crusts would be made in for hours on our butcher block, gracing the bottoms and tops of only the most deserving of fillings. Some of her signatures were lemon meringue, pecan, apple, cherry with a lattice top, and of course, mince meat. But the pies weren’t what we looked forward to the most, rather the scraps of dough grandma would never, ever waste. Once the dough was in the fridge to chill, the real treat was born into mouthwatering cinnamon pinwheels. In the oven for ten minutes and voila! Scraps transformed into bubbling, flaky treats just for the kids. She was to us what Julia Child was to the world: a passionate cook with secret family recipes who would rather share her love of the art than to squander the recipes in a dark cabinet.

Grandma was like that with everything in her life. She wanted all of us to be a part of what she loved the most, whether it was taking us to Broadway shows at Christmas, sharing coveted board game secrets at family gatherings, or bringing us into her family roots, proudly and passionately. As we grew older we too, wanted Grandma to be a part of our milestones, and she never skipped a beat when it came to graduations and weddings. She was proud of that, and the photos from JDK's wedding in July sparkle with her matriarchal essence and humble pride, which she was so deserving of.

In closing, we would like to share with you some words from CD which he wrote soon after learning of grandma’s death:

“The only thing that I can keep seeing over and over and over again in my head is how happy and smiley and energetic Grandma was for JDK's wedding last year. How she burst forth from her chair like a laughing child, or how she absolutely beamed with pride and joy as Jess and dad made their way down the aisle, and her two youngest grand-kids got to participate in the wedding. She got to see all of her kids, and all of her grand-kids at once, at ONCE (and that NEVER happens anymore), and she soaked up each moment as only she could.

Did we? Did we soak up those moments? Did we embrace the family as she did then, or any other time that we gather together? Do we look at each of these opportunities and grab them and never let them go and think about them for weeks or months afterwards? Or have we been taking for granted the times that we get to see each other, and those other family members that pop in seemingly randomly to our lives. I get sickened by the fact that it takes a moment like this to hurtle me back to the days that I thought were just last year, last week, last month, and really live them again.”

As Grandma would want us to do, capture your moments with family and friends, not just in pixels and paper, but with embraces and stories. Take a good road trip if you must, make a pie or apply the perfect shade of red lipstick, but ALWAYS remember to tell each other how much you love them, even if you’ve just met.

We'll miss you grandma, and love you always.

On This Father's Day Weekend

I assume most readers have not only heard about Tim Russert's death, but have also seen him on TV now and then over the past 17 years.

The sudden death of Mr. Russert has lead me to think contemplatively about my own father, someone who I consider to be a role model, a leader, a confidante and a friend. And it has made me unwaveringly grateful to have this man as my father.

For years, my sister and I shared a bedroom. Our walls were papered with butterflies and sunshine and the two of us slept, side by side, for 12 years, in twin beds. I remember one night when my sister was beside herself. What was it about and how old were we? I have no idea. All I know is that J could not pronounce the word "comfortable". She laid in that bed crying and crying, and none of us understood why. My dad came up, and sat on the edge of her bed. He talked to her, tried to soothe her. None of us had any idea why she was so upset. So Dad came up with a trick. All she wanted was to be able to pronounce "comfortable" correctly. So he said:

J: repeat after me: comfort a cow

j repeated that

Dad: J: comfort a bull

J repeated that.

Comfort a cow

Comfort a bull

After about 2 minutes, J had it. We still talk about comforting a bull to this day. It's a great family memory. But more than that, it's a great memory of our dad.

My father is not one to give compliments easily. He is judging and can be harsh. But he is one of the greatest, most patient listeners I can imagine. He is not emotional, he is rational. He is loving, and he is fair. He has taught me to be the most amazing woman I can be, and he has supported me, without question, in that endeavor.

I graduated from law school last month, and I defended my first client a month before that. My father was present at both events. I do not strive to live up to some image my father has, but rather aspire to embody the lessons he has taught me. Raise my voice. Question everything. Challenge yourself. Embrace who you are. Respect where you come from. Love your mother.

My dad comes from the most noble of backgrounds. Military service has been paramount in his life. None of his children followed in those footsteps, and I can only speak for myself with my reasoning. When my dad encouraged me to go into ROTC at UVA I sheepishly looked at him and said: Dad, do you think they'll have an issue that I have a fundamental issue with guns?" Dad looked at me and said "Hmm. yeah. Maybe ROTC isn't right for you.

But the bottom line is this: every path I have chosen has been embraced and accepted by my father. It has been encouraged. And his support has pushed me to where I am today.

I love my father more than anyone can imagine. And I respect him. If I can be half the lawyer and half the person he is in my life, I will die a lucky and blessed individual.

Happy father's day, dad. I am who I am because of you.

Motion Denied

As some of you may recall from April, my experience representing my first client did not end as we had hoped, and as we learned later, did not end at all. The experience has been priceless in showing the power of the court, as well as highlighting the responsibility of representatives in accepting client's cases.

To back pedal a bit...after the debacle that occurred in my client's hearing and after she continued to blatantly lie to us in the immediate aftermath, we filed a motion with the court to withdraw from further representation for a number of highly valid reasons. While we knew there was a chance, as there is with any motion, that the judge could deny our request, we hoped he would not and really believed that we had presented good arguments for our case. More than a month after filing the motion we go the judges order: Motion Denied. After the emotional roller coaster we had all hitched a ride on, it turned out we were not given passage off of it quite yet.

The news came a couple of days after my graduation. We were not wholly unprepared as we had talked about this possibility, my partner's and my responsibilities and rights, and a contingency plan if the worst were to occur. But to actually be faced with this reality had the same effect of having the wind knocked out of all of us. How were we supposed to go back to this woman who we could not trust and try and piece the truth together? How do you have faith in her as an individual?

Clinical programs are interesting--they present myriad choices for the students everyday. Some with distinct right and wrong decisions, but there's a lot of ambiguity to the choices we have to make as well. The first big one that I confronted was: do I stay on this case or do I bow out and let the others take the reins from here? After all, I no longer am a student at the school, our clinical grades had already come out. For all intents and purposes, I was done with the clinic. But then the grey area came quickly creeping in. This was my client. This was not an abstract "real life simulated" project that I could skip away from on a whim. My partner and I, no matter how dishonest our client was with us, had invested more time and work into her case than I've invested in almost anything. And we know her--we know her better than the advisers know her--we were in the position to be more effective than anyone else. The decision was made harder by the realization that her next court appearance is 11 days before I take the bar exam--studying for the bar while trying to fix the egregious issues that the hearing presented was daunting. But when I flipped it one more time, it was also daunting to know that the judge had ordered us to stay on. How do you wade through a choice like this?

I've never been one to easily walk away from a commitment I've made to people. I faced this in Peace Corps at one of my lowest hours, when I was sitting in our regional house, talking to my parents, feeling completely dejected, exhausted and frustrated and wanted to just come home. I had been there a little over a year and the effects of trying to help make change in a tiny village that as headed up by some of the most intensely chauvinistic men one could imagine was draining. I was explaining all of this to my parents and my dad said (and I'll never forget): Listen. You can come home right now if you want. No one will think less of you and no one will judge you. But if you think there is even the slightest chance that you could help make a lasting improvement and difference for this village you owe it to yourself to try. If you don't think so, then come on home. But don't quit just because it's "hard".

Basic advice, but true advice. I stayed and finished a remarkable project that is still highly successful, asserted myself as an individual and woman and made some of the most amazing friendships I could imagine. And I applied that same advice to this situation. Yes, it would have been infinitely easier to step back and hand over my roll to someone else. To walk away and let others sift through the rubble of my client's case. But would that have been the right thing to do? I didn't think so at the time and a month later I am absolutely convinced I made the right decision.

It was hard to sit with my client for the first time since we said goodbye to her and explain the ground rules for this time around. It was hard to look at her without April 11 swirling around in my mind. But I think my partner and I have been grown immensely individually and as representatives with the lessons we learned in round one. Over the past couple of weeks we've started a new foundation with her--one that is based less on the emotional pull of her story and more on the task at hand: repairing her credibility and trying to keep her in the U.S.

There are some members of our team who feel doing the bare minimum is all that's required for her. My partner and I disagree. If we're going to do this, we're going to do it fully and to the best of our abilities. We've made a lot of changes in our representation. Her husband is no longer present while we interview her, or involved in her case at all. We've laid out exactly what is on the line, and how bad it could actually be. But we've affirmed that we will do everything in our power to give her a second chance provided that she no longer is dishonest with her.

We waded through the lies last Sunday. And they don't actually affect her asylum claims at all--they do affect her credibility horribly. So game on. We're not expecting to win, but we're not prepared to fail either. I guess we're prepared merely to give her a second chance and do what we can to help that chance be successful. I suppose in the end that's the only thing any of us can hope for.

A Room of One's Own

It's been quiet around these parts as of late. It's been a busy and emotional month, but a good month, over all, and a reflective one at that. Since May 9, 2008 I finished law school (kind of), graduated, went on a week long vacation with some fabulous gals to a fabulous beach, said good bye to my grandmother, celebrated my grandmother, was told I am still representing my asylum client from Rwanda, almost missed being able to take the bar exam, began studying for the bar exam. Like I said, it's been a busy month. So my apologies if I've left the three or so of you who read this hanging, and for my inability to update on all the above stated events, as they truly are all stories of their own.

So another month has passed and more transitions linger everyday. I began my bar exam studies last week--and it has been off to a rather rocky start as I've been trying to find the distinct balance between that and representing my client into her July 17th follow up hearing. Finding the balance has been disruptive to plans I've already made and have had to cancel, and I've let people down who I feel like I've been letting down since the beginning of January. I'm blessed to have such patient and loving friends and family, but it's still tough, every time it occurs.

My family was in town for my graduation, which was a joy, to say the least. Some stayed with me, some in a quaint little bed and breakfast near my apartment. It was fun having people see my apartment, though I had not had time to fully unpack or decorate since moving in (I know I know) as this year has just kind of gotten away from me. It was fun to be able to have people over, to not have roommates, and to be able to just relax in my home with my family. I don't think my entire family felt that same sense of joy...

It's not a secret to anyone who knows me that I generally lead a trail of chaos around my life. That goes for my apartment as well. I do well not only with white noise, but "white clutter" as well. I'm not dirty, but I am often the queen of well organized piles, all of which I know by heart and that have their own filing systems. Every week or two I make one big "no more clutter" purge, spend an hour organizing, all for my hard work to descend shortly there after with a kicking off of shoes, dropping of purses, strewing of keys etc.

When my mother arrived at my apartment for graduation, she noticeably grimaced. Needless to say, this semester has been far more chaotic than any part of my life I've experienced before, and while I cleaned my apartment before the family arrived, it was not completely declutterized (I thought it looked lovely). She held her tongue and nothing was said...until the first phone call home after everyone had departed post-graduation.

"DLS, we have to do something about your apartment"
"What's wrong with my apartment"
"You're not in college anymore. You look like you're in college"
"Mama DLS, you KNOW what this year has been like for me"
"Yes. Which is why I'm going to let YOU pick the week I come back and we spend working on your apartment"

We've had this conversation now about three times since May 18th. I think she really means it.

So, truth be told, I have not actually hung any of my gorgeous pictures and paintings I've collected over the years. There are still unpacked boxes that I, frankly, no longer even notice as being out of place. I had a bookshelf with one shelf still actually in tact, another next to it empty as there was a chair and some other...stuff...blocking my access. Suitcases sit at the foot of my bed...packed, as if I'm planning to be able to escape at any minute with more than a full wardrobe if need be. And I still don't have a silverware organizer. All my silverware is just kind of thrown into a drawer with clean dishtowels and clothe napkins.

But today something snapped. I got rid of my desk when I moved here, and have used my tiny little table in my kitchen for whatever table work I needed to do. it fits my computer and one small book, basically. I've been fighting with it for the past week, willing it to have more space, and strangely enough, it never seems to grow. So today, after coming home from bar class, sweating my buns off, in a bad mood and trying to study on this postage stamp of a table I lost it. I began not only purging my piles and reorganizing them but I also began purging furniture, like that useless bookshelf, and cleared myself a space, a big space, right in front of my two enormous windows that look out onto the street below. When I moved from my parents home they gave me a sideboard that folds out to become a full table, made of a lovely wood that's weathered decades in our family's history. To date, it's been sitting against a wall, all folded in, acting as my mail/keys table/dry cleaning table. I zoned in on it and realized how much delicious space it would provide if I just moved it over to the window and unfolded one of its leaves. I hauled sh*t down to the bulk garbage area of my building, moved my couch, moved and put away everything in the way of this window area and set up the table.

The only thing missing is hanging things on the wall to make this place I finally created perfect. Now I feel like I have a room of my own, with a desk of my own, and windows to the outside world and a place to focus and do my work. Moving everything took me about 45 minutes total. It's amazing what a difference that can make.

Simple Pleasures

I love living in a city. While I enjoy going home to the rolling hills of my little state now and then, nothing beats being young in a metropolitan city. I love that I've never owned a car, can walk just about anywhere I want to go, am surrounded by free stuff: museums, monuments, concerts, films, parks and so much more. It's great to be able to gather with girl friends on Saturday mornings for brunch in one of 100 different restaurants, to stroll afterward and pop into furniture shops, shoe shops, any kind of shop you want. I love the freedom. A lot of time I actually like the anonymity a city provides, because within the great anonymous place, you can create your pockets of familiarity with people and vendors who you frequent and enjoy. Almost everything in the city where I dwell is generally peachy...except for one tiny detail: the grocery stores.

I know. It seems strange that out of all the goods and bads that places have to offer, this is of particular annoyance to me in this city. But really. I've come to notice how frustrating the grocery stores in this city can be. Where I lived for the two years prior to my new apartment had almost no grocery stores. Certainly, there were none accessible without a car. We heard rumors and murmurings of this grocery store or that one "coming soon!" but it never happened, and I don't think it's actually going to happen for at least 5 more years.

But then I moved to another, more lively, part of the city this past year. I was thrilled to be a 1.5 song on my ipod away from a Safeway, and a 4-5 song walk away from Whole Foods. Heaven! I thought. I quickly learned that at Whole Foods it is somehow near impossible to walk out of the store with less than 50 dollars in groceries (and not that many groceries, I might add) and at Safeway you're lucky to find half of the items that they supposedly stock as most things you want are sold out (hence the loving nickname most residents have given this Safeway as: The Soviet Safeway). And the produce kind of makes me want to cry.

So, you can, by this point, imagine my interest when I heard that just a few blocks north of me a shiney new Harris Teeter had opened! At first I thought this was another urban myth, just like the Harris Teeter urban myth from my days in the sleepier neighborhood. Then I assumed that while the store may bear the name Harris Teeter, it's probably like the Secret Safeway over on 19th street that does not say Safeway anywhere on the outside, and is about 1/8 the size of a normal grocery store.

Well, after a lovely brunch today, my friend M and I decided to make a trip to this new grocery store, having opened its doors just a few weeks ago. We were skeptical. Very skeptical. And then, it happened. We walked into the produce section, then the fish, then up and down the aisles. And we realized: Holy Sh*t. This is a god honest, full blown, wide aisled grocery store with food stocked, produce fresh, lightbulbs working right here not 4.5 blocks north of us! We savored it. Positively strolling up and down the aisles. Stopping to stare at the array of cleaning products, cereal, baby food (no idea why) "ethnic food", frozen food, cheese etc they had to offer. It was nearly tear inducing.

While I have spent many hours creaively looking for ways to procrastinate during exams, this is by far the best one we've found. And thanks to this shiny new store, not only did it allow me to procrastinate while shopping, but now blogging about it as well!

God Bless Harris Teeter. God Bless every one of them.

The End of an Era...or Something

I have finished all classes I will ever take while in law school today, and it feels great, if not a little anticlimactic.

It's strange to think that all of the knowledge that law school provides has been given to me, and now it's my job to figure out what to do with it. It's strange to think that I won't be returning to school next fall, I'll be beginning my professional career. And it's strange to think that so many of my friends will be dispersing throughout the U.S. in the next few weeks and months.

I've said this before, and I continue to feel this way, I like the endings of things almost as much as the beginnings. There is a great sense of accomplishment in closing the book on a very formidable experience and moving forward to something different, possibly better, but certainly challenging.

This has been a remarkable 3 years. I've met some of the greatest people in the world, I've lived and worked in a refugee camp on the border of Somalia, studied in London, questioned myself, fell in love with a boy, have been challenged intellectually, sat in a room with one of the most well known Supreme Court Justice's, represented my first client, was betrayed by my first client, lost the love of the boy because of my own bad decisions, found a mentor, landed a job, worked with Darfurian rebels on their negotiation skills, and found my voice.

I'm proud of myself. And I feel great about this accomplishment.

Forgiveness

Forgiveness is a tricky beast. We all want to forgive things and people in our lives, but I think most people secretly harbor things inside them that they've resolved to forgive. A friend, co-worker, confidant, significant other, parent, whomever.

I got an email from my former client last night asking for forgiveness. It was an emotional email--clearly written with emotion, but also evoking emotion from me. She asked for forgiveness, thanked us, told us she would never forget us, that we were always going to be part of her family. She said that she didn't understand, before this, the impact keeping a detail like the one she kept from us would have on her and her life and her relationship with us. She asked for forgiveness again, at the end of the email.

This is something my partner and I have been struggling with. It's like the demise of any relationship, people naturally seek closure. It can be said that we had closure in our final meeting with them, when we withdrew from further representation--and that's true. We had professional closure. But we did not find the personal closure that I think is necessary for my partner and me being the kind of people we are.

There's this great song by one of my favorites called "The Mercy of the Fallen", and I can't help but listen to it repeatedly while thinking of the concept of forgiveness applied to my client. I think what's keeping me from an instantaneous reply to the email I was sent is an unclear sense of how I want to forgive. This is a different situation than I've ever been in, and I think this circumstance calls for something other than a mere "I forgive you".

The truth is, I DO forgive her. I actually wonder if there is anything to forgive. Can I blame a young woman for her desperation? Can I blame her for making a mistake? Can I blame her for a choice she made that turned out to be the wrong one? I think I can be angry and hurt, I can feel a sense of betrayal, but if I were in her position, I have to wonder if I would have done the same.

I was raised by my wise and forgiving and wonderful parents in the Episcopalian church. I went to Sunday school every Sunday, I attended church afterwards with my family, we participated in the seasonal events in our church. But then the most remarkable thing happened: I left for high school at a boarding school just across from our state. And I discovered other religions, and I began to question the one I was raised in. My parents did not balk at this, they did not chastise me, or show disappointment. Instead, they encouraged me. They encouraged me to learn, study, believe in what I found truth, light, solace and comfort in, even if it was not found in the church in which I was raised.

And what I found was the common thread of forgiveness and truth. I found the same kind of peace that any religion provides. And I made the independent choice to believe in something more informal than any one religion or any one book. I began to believe in humanity and individuals. I began to believe in my own power as an individual to make good and conscious decisions. And I always believed in the power of forgiveness.

I remember the first time I really lied to my father. I was 8 or 9. I told a lie, I don't remember what it was, but it caused me to be filled with guilt. I remember lying in my bed in my yellow and white striped bedroom and crying. I went downstairs to the kitchen where my parents sat discussing the kinds of things they discussed, and I, tearily and dramatically, told my father my lie. He did not chastise, he did not yell. He did not remain angry. He did not walk away from me. He forgave me, easily and honestly, and gave me a hug only fathers can give, and he continued to love me.

Certainly, the current situation in which I find myself is not the same as the lie I told my father as a child. But shouldn't the response be the same? If we cannot embrace individuals, humans, friends, after a lie, won't we end up somewhat lonely and suspicious? Isn't truth and comfort found in our ability to forgive?

I think I will continue to contemplate this. I might contemplate this in the most serene place I can think of in Washington DC this Sunday--the most gorgeous cathedral that overlooks this fair town. I have not made peace yet with the events of the last 5 days, but I need to. I think inside I forgive my former client, my former friend. And I know I need to forgive on the outside, and I need to tell her that.

Our lives remarkably complex. There are things in my life that I hold onto, that no one can see, that dictate choices I make. Some of those choices are noble and good, sometimes they're self serving and greedy. I cannot force blame, or anger, or ill will on this young woman, who was trying to find something better. I don't believe she came into this actively wanting to decieve us, to hurt us, to make us question the very beliefs we hold. I think she was desperate, and sad, and looking for something, searching for something better. And in the end, I not only can understand that, but I can forgive her for that.

I just need to discover how, and I am confident I will.

Reality

Thursday, April 10, 2008:

My dad arrived this afternoon for a 2 day visit revolving around my very first hearing for my very first client in my professional career. My partner and I feel great--everything is in its place, all papers filed, completed, rehearsed. I've finished my 17 minute closing statement, added the finishing touches, and just finished rehearsing it for the last time until we're in court tomorrow and I actually give it in support of my client. It's emotional at times, there are paragraphs that are harder to get through than the ones that outline the pure law that's applicable to the case at hand.

My client is ready--she's nervous, we're all nervous--but it's the good kind of nervous, the kind that comes when you understand the gravity of the case at hand, when you realize that a 4 hour hearing will dictate the path of not only your life, but your infant child's as well. When you prepare to tell, in entirety, your entire history, filled with horror and sadness, struggle, and constant running.

We're ready--we've worked so damn hard in the last 3 months. We have done every single thing we can to make sure no stone is unturned, statements are compiled, research is done. I've spent more nights awake and at school in the last month than I have ever spent in my entire 12 years of schooling--but for something that is good and true, something I believe in, someone I believe in.

I sat in the 70 degree sunshine with my partner this afternoon and we talked about how lucky we were to have to the client we have--we talked about wanting to remain in their lives even after this hearing, watching the baby grow up, supporting them in their endeavors. We talked about the possibility of walking away from this with a win in our first case.

I'm excited. This is the kick-off of what I hope to be a long career after law school working for causes and individuals who I believe in, helping folks raise their voices, and allowing myself to be awed and inspired by individual stories of people who have lived lives far different from mine.

I feel good about what will happen, and where we will be in 14 hours. I am filled with hope.

Friday, April 11, 2008:

I don't know where to begin. I don't know where to end, or where it did end. I am still unclear as to how our work was unravelled so quickly, how our case violently departed from the path it had been on, how one person who we have come to trust and care about could deceive us so fully.

The judge in the case was supposed to be the wild card. My clinic had never had a case before him, and we had not been able to see him in action over the semester. Immigration judges vary in their...professionalism. There are some who treat the process as it should be treated: with respect for people coming before them, they're balanced and the process works as it should. There are A LOT of immigration judges who are the opposite. They decide cases before they hear them, they lack sensitivity, they lose sight of the fact individuals are sitting before them, and dehuanize the process.

The judge in the case turned out to be remarkable--he was kind--he was tough, but he was kind--he was professional, he treated our client with the utmost respect and dignity. He was soft spoken and while he was intimidation, it was not as a result of what he projected, but rather because of the position he filled. He treated my partner and me with respect, knowing this was the first time we had represented anyone in a court of law.

The preliminary matters were taken care of swiftly--we won some of the matters, we lost some, but we made great arguments and we hit a stride of comfort. The nervousness dissolved and we became comfortable with our own voices and representation. Our client did a remarkable job on direct examination. The judge asked questions and it was clear he wanted to grant asylum. We were filled with confidence, but not cockiness. My partner and I were moving well together, and as we closed our direct examination of our client, we cheered inside for our client and for her poise.

The government began their cross examination. Every question that was asked, we had anticipated. I made notes on my closing and for redirect. My partner did the same. 10 minutes in, 20 minutes in, we continued to feel good--this was as we had prepared for, and the client continued to remain calm.

And then it happened. It was about 10:15am. Hearing had been going full speed ahead for over 2 hours. And the government asked to approach the bench. She had impeachment evidence to introduce. We had no idea what it was, but we didn't think it could be anything we couldn't handle. How wrong we were.

I can't go into details, and I don't want to. But the evidence was devastating to the case. It was evidence that discredited everything my client had testified to all morning and all semester. It put every single detail she had recounted into question. And it was information that had been specifically withheld from us by the government.

As more and more questions were asked, more and more lies were told. We watched the tightly knit fabric we had knit unravel. We saw the demise not only of our case, but of the faith we had felt so strongly in our client not 2 hours before. Our brains raced with what we were hearing--we had no idea what to do, or say. I could not look at my client, sitting up there, lying. telling lies I knew were lies. Digging herself a hole that was so deep and wide I could barely see her anymore by the end of it.

We met with her after the hearing, mainly to find out what the hell was going on and to get her to just tell us the truth. We had to tell her the consequences she was facing as a result of what she had said. We had to get some sort of explanation. We had to find some sort of validation in this stranger who sat across from us. And we got none of it.

We got more lies. More denials. Every last glimmer of the client we believed we were representing disappeared. It was shocking.

Sunday, April 13, 2008:

We have withdrawn from representing my client further. The judge reserved his decision until a later date this summer to allow the government further time to investigate my former client's case.

We met with everyone today to tell them the decision to withdraw and give her an opportunity to sign a statement to correct the record from the false statements she made on the stand. Our ethical obligations force us to do this, and if she refused to correct the record herself, we would be obligated to do so for her.

Her story changed no less than three times during the course of our 60 minute meeting. It was one of the most emotionally difficult conversations I've ever had. And when the meeting was over we walked away from a woman we would have done anything to help 2 days ago.

This has been emotionally draining. It's been a great learning experience, for sure, but it's been a really really tough personal experience.

I feel betrayed. And I'm angry. I don't know what to believe and I don't know if anything my client told us over the last three months is true. I suspect there are truths, and part truths in her story, but I'm not confident that much of it is accurate. I do know that her story of the genocide, and her family, is not fully true. Not everyone died and it probably did not happen how she said it did.

But I'm not allowing this to make me cynical about this process. This does not ruin this kind of work for me, and I look forward to being able to start again. I know that there are a lot of people who need this kind of help, and I know that there are a lot of people who have come from places where they cannot go back. And I know that I can do this kind of work, and I can do it well. I don't know if we became to emotionally involved in this case. I don't think we did. I mean, how does one NOT become emotionally involved in cases like this. I also don't believe that living life with emotional distance from people is a worthwhile way to live. But it stings a little more when things like this happen.

I wish the destination we had reached had been better. I worry about the impact this will have not only on her case, but on her husband's and everyone else who is involved with her. I worry the most for the baby, an innocent bystander in all of this.

So case closed. Thanks to everyone who has been so supportive through the semester. I could not be more blessed with the friends and family in my life.