I meant to write a post on the weekend, but somehow couldn’t. It was, actually, a fairly difficult week and the weekend was harder. I feel now buried in gray wool, and there is a cast of heaviness over everything.

IT Ma’am left for Australia. I guess we weren’t close, but I liked her. She is a genuine person and I hadn’t really made time to spend with her this year—I had too much on my plate, it always felt like, and it seemed like there would be time later when I had less to deal with. Well, there isn’t more time.

I didn’t know she was going. C asked me before midterm break if she was—IT Ma’am had gone to the Capital City on leave and wasn’t there to ask herself—so then I asked IT Ma’am and she told me she wasn’t. So it came as a surprise to me when suddenly she was leaving. I guess there had been a delay in her visa, and so she thought she wasn’t going to be able to go, but she didn’t tell me all the details. She didn’t tell me it could happen, but there was this problem and it seemed like it wasn’t going to work out. She just said no.

So I was sad she left and also weighed down with other separations from the past that were more traumatic.

Then C went on a school trip. She’ll be back this afternoon. It’s just four days, and I managed to keep in my head the idea that, although I wasn’t seeing her every day, she isn’t dead. But it recalled other losses. Over the weekend—mostly Sunday—I got to process some of them.

It recalls one of the Polish girls, the one who disappeared.

Most of the other girls I was close to died. I know that they died. I saw them die or I saw their bodies afterward or I saw them dying. But there is one Polish girl—and I am not sure I quite remember her name, I seem to have called her Miwoshchka, which means love—that simply disappeared. I don’t know if she ran away or if Yuri traded her to someone else or if Yuri killed her when I wasn’t there. But the sense of abandonment is profound. I just felt left behind, as though all the lights had gone off.

I don’t when this happened in the sequence of things. I don’t know if it happened before or after Magda and Stecia died. I have memories of Miwoshchka from when I was very young—I seem to have been in diapers at times. But that doesn’t mean she was only there when I was that small. She might have been a part of my life for several years. I have a vague sense of asking where she was and not getting an answer and of climbing up into the laps of other girls, but not feeling any comfort. Or not enough comfort, because they weren’t my special person. They weren’t my Miwoshchka.

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