Claire and I escorted Suzanne to the train station when she left for the Peace Corps two years ago. It was Sunday, and not much traffic. Inside the train station, another story. The ancient rituals of leave-taking. Ours loomed large. As well it should. I haven’t laid eyes on my oldest daughter for two years to the day. When I tell people how long it’s been, they will often ask, “Skype?” “Once,” I tell them. Only once. It’s a lack of electricity compounded by a lack of bandwidth compounded by, well, Africa, I guess.

But I have seen Suzanne through the eyes of her father, sister and friend, all of whom have visited.  And I hear her every week or two on the phone.  And between these first-hand accounts and my mother’s ear listening for tone, inflection and the spaces between the words — I know what I need to know. She is, for the moment (God willing, “Inshallah,” as she has taken to saying), happy and healthy (minus — or plus! — an intestinal parasite or two).

Last year when I write “One Year and Counting” I thought Suzanne would be home by now. But she will stay another year in Benin, take on another Peace Corps job, another challenge. Still, my count-down to seeing her is only months, since she’ll be back this fall on home leave.

One observation I’ll repeat from last year’s post, because it only deepens with time: Suzanne is the happiest person I know.

(Photo: Katie Esselburn)