**This blog series was written about the events that happened on Tuesday, November 16th.
It just took a while for the words to come. Told you that might happen… ;p. Please click here to get the first part of the story.**
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The local police were proving to be rather difficult in taking Andrew away. They did take his knife and machete away from him earlier that day, but would not take him until he hurt himself or someone else. So, he eventually made his way back to the hotel.
Sitting in the lobby, watching Andrew pace back and forth in front of me with a gun to his head, I wondered just what kind of “hurt” would need to happen before action would be taken. Fear threatened to break free underneath the surface of my emotionless façade and I was praying. Hard. Words both known & unknown were tumbling out of my mouth, under my breath, to the air in front of me. And I could feel my heart beating.
“Father, I don’t want to witness a suicide. Please, protect him from himself!”
Eventually, he walked out of the hotel. I took that opportunity to leave the lobby, find the other members of my team and seek refuge in the hotel office. As of the following morning, the three dogs on the property were all dead. We are uncertain if this was at Andrew’s hand or the other family on the property that was being kicked off that same morning. But, as of that afternoon, Andrew was in a psych ward in the capital city of Managua. He’d been locked up overnight and transported there earlier that day. The last I heard, preparations for his deportation back to the US and subsequent hospitalization were in progress.
As I fell asleep that night, I was unaware that the following day would bring forth unsolicited and unwelcome images and feelings, most of which included Mom. (continue…)
