Happiness is a lot like sorrow, that’s for sure. Returning from Haiti doesn’t come with a high anymore, it is more like a crashing. A slipping away. A loss of balance. An unsteadiness. A missing. For the first time, I traveled to Haiti like I did in the beginning: as a missionary. All remnants of Michel were gone. His voice didn’t echo anywhere, his footsteps didn’t go first. There was an honesty and purity that had been lost, now restored, and this makes it all the worse