“Our lives are made in these small hours, these little wonders, these twists and turns of fate.”

I’ve been thinking for more than a week what I should put in this last entry; how to sum up three trips to a place that has become a kind of second home. To try and gather my thoughts, I looked at what I wrote during my final days of trip one and two—and I discovered something.

I’m in a very different place now.

The first two trips I felt terrible about leaving, about saying good bye to the kids, about leaving a place where I felt I was doing a bit of good.

Fast forward two years and I’m ready to move on. I don’t hate it here and I’m not leaving defeated—but I just know I’m ready, ready to leave, ready to try something new, ready to move on. I won’t ever forget the kids, the seemingly small moments at Eluxolweni, at Amasango or on the dirt roads of the township that have had such an impact on my life. I’ll never forget, and perhaps someday life will lead me back to South Africa—but it won’t for a long while.

I’m ready tomorrow, for the first time of these three trips, to board flight 6261 with non-stop service from O.R. Tambo Johannesburg International to Washington Dulles with no regrets, knowing I’ve done the best I can, knowing that some of the kids I’ve become so close to over the past two years will make it—they will. I also know some won’t.

I’ve never really known—or accepted—that some kids you’ve poured time and energy and your heart into won’t make it. It’s a painful truth; but it is the truth. You can’t save everyone from years of neglect or abuse or even from themselves. You can try—and should, but you won’t win them all.

I feel that is one of the most important realizations of trip number three: some of these kids will somehow find the strength to break the cycle of despair and of hopelessness that’s gripped generations in their families; some of the kids somehow manage to keep that fire within themselves alight; they can see beyond the poverty; they know they’re not guaranteed a future, but they won’t stop fighting for one.

Others will drop out; some (if they haven’t already) will become alcoholics and drug addicts. Some (if they haven’t already) will become fathers and neglect their children the same way they have been neglected. Some will never make it out of the tin shack and some will forever be stuck. Some will forever be victims of circumstance and of themselves.

I’ve said farewell to the students of Amasango and will be going this afternoon to say good bye to the guys at Eluxolweni. I wish them the best of luck. I hope they figure out how to piece together their lives. I hope they don’t forget the times we’ve spent together over these past two years. I know I never will.

But for the first time in two years, I’m ready to move on. I’ll never forget—but I’m ready to leave.