The last two days of camp are the hardest because they push us away. T gave away the present I gave her. She ran into the lift and pushed me out. "Don't follow me!" When I hugged her goodbye on the bus, she asked if i was coming along. I wasn't, and she pushed me away. I looked at her through the bus window but her eyes never met mine.
The older children are better at facing the reality of goodbyes, and let themselves cry. M always warned us about being pushed away. It's just a defense mechanism for those who are scared of separation.
Just as well, I thought, because I can't promise her forever either. I can't even give her more than five days. Still I wonder how raw her hands must be, from pulling and pushing, pushing and pushing, not even willing to make memories.
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