He eventually took control of the facility.
Chika Juene entered Albom’s life three years later.
She’d been born three days before the earthquake, and her mother later died.
Most kids going through the Port-au-Prince mission’s interviews would stare nervously at the ground.
Chika seemed annoyed, impatient.
Albom stuck out his tongue at her, and she gave it right back.
I knew then that she was brave, he notes.
I didn’t know how brave she would need to be later.
It’s considered deadly, especially where medical resources are scarce.
They grew into an unorthodox but loving family.
“We were parents in grandparents bodies, Janine says.
Brian Bennett
Book Excerpt
Do you remember the first morning you woke up at our house?
I was already down in my office, because mornings are when I write.
Suddenly, my phone rang; it was my wife, calling from the bedroom.
In a raspy, just-woke-up voice, she said, Chika is hungry for breakfast.
Can you help her?”
I showed you the frying pan, the burner, the bowl, the cutting board.
You stood on your tiptoes and helped move the spatula around.
I poured you juice.
We said our prayers.
And I watched you eat.
And I watched you eat some more.
To say it was leisurely is a big understatement.
You looked out the window.
You put down your fork and yawned.
You picked up your fork.
You had another bite.
You swayed back and forth to some internal rhythm and looked out the window again.
It took nearly an hour.
I would compare this to the pace at which I eat breakfast, except I don’t eat breakfast.
A child is both an anchor and a set of wings.
My old way of doing things was gone.
I laugh at that memory, as it is so small.
With a child, time is no longer your own.
All parents will tell you this.
You had a pace.
The disease had a pace.
“Do you know how old I am, Chika?
You used to guess, Thirty!
and when I said no, you tried, A hundred!
Relative age must be so mysterious to children, who count their time in half years.
With most of them, I’ve observed, there are only kids and grownups.
The numbers don’t really matter.
Janine was faster at adapting than I was.
I think she was always, in some fashion, preparing for this day.
When I was younger, I was afraid of becoming a father.
I saw how it ate up the hours.
Also, to be totally honest, I thought it would hinder my career.
I was advancing fast and wanted to keep up that pace.
When Janine and I married, she knew all this.
Still, hoarding time becomes a habit.
She got angry, actually, which she rarely did.
I was a foolish man in many ways, Chika, when I look back on things.
And then, you, with your unhurried ways.
You took your time reading.
You took your time dressing.
“Those red socks are good, I’d say, watching you study them.
I think I want the green ones.”
“The green ones are good.”
“No, wait!
With little choice, we slowed to your rhythm.
And we found ourselves studying you in a growing fascination.
If you nodded off in my arms, I’d hold you while Janine stroked your hair.
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