It’s been a few weeks and a few boxes for our coming change of home and country 😉
Something that is bugging me is that I keep wondering how we could tell our 19 months old son that we will be moving. Everybody I’ve been talking to seem to think that he won’t mind, as long as he is with us. But he looks really happy here, and even after a month of summer holidays, he still remembered where everything was, the books, the switches and the TV and how it worked. We have no way of knowing what he will think and feel and we can’t explain what is going on. I’d really love to be able to promise that we won’t be moving again and that the next house, or at least the area, will be the one where we will stay for him to grow up and make friends. I’d love that but we’ll have to see, I find it difficult to imagine us settling anywhere, really.
Because we are leaving soon, I thought I would post this poem written some time ago on the subject:
Some months and years ago we left
friends and family, we could not stay;
and going there sometimes we ache;
there was our Home, of which bereft
we will now be, always at bay.
Perceived by most as mad or brave,
we went like Cartier in his days;
recalling home, eager to make,
from then to forth, from breath to grave,
a side-way path with self-found ways.
So little time, so much to see,
still we settled – bills must be paid;
learned the culture, what we could take,
learned the language, the history;
in which tongue will our children play?
Here is our Home, and where we bide,
blending with years as odd mixtures,
we may ponder at our lives’ wake;
longing, and thrilled, we went, we tried!
Becoming for ever strangers…