Learning from the past

I remember when we left Edinburgh about five years ago I felt my heart brake as we drove through the city centre for the last time heading out towards the motorway. I had tears streaming down my face. I didn’t think I could ever love another city as much as I loved Scotland’s utterly charming capitol. And yet, as it turns out, I love the city which gave me my husband as much as the city which greeted my first child.

I remember our estate agent taking us on a tour of our first apartment in Edinburgh. I remember wondering if this one would be the one, I remember noting all the apartment’s pros and cons on a pad of paper. I remember remarking how the windows weren’t double glazed and that the noise from the street would be quite bothersome, but how the flat came with a laundry room which was a major bonus. We were pleased that the kitchen had brand new appliances but unimpressed how, in true British style, the bathroom floor was carpeted. Our experience was similar when we visited our flat in Dijon for the first time. I vividly recall standing in front of the entrance waiting for the agent to find the right key, impatient to see what was on the other side of this beautiful wooden door. I didn’t fall in love with the flat immediately, but I could see the potential. It was a very open plan, child friendly property. We’ve been incredibly happy here on rue de la Sapiniere. When the time comes for us to leave I imagine the flood gates will open just like they did when we left Edinburgh.

If I cast my mind back even further I remember when, as a seven year old, my family left Berlin to move to Toronto. I didn’t have a fear of the unknown, simply an ache at being parted with something I did not want to be parted from. I bent down and touched the tarmac on the runway before looking up at the stairs leading up to our plane. I recall whispering “I love you, Germany” and feeling my mother place her arm around my shoulder. Once on board I looked out of my little airplane window and I felt the tears in my eyes start to trickle down my cheeks. I was emotional even as a seven year old. My sister and my father were sitting one row ahead playing Tic Tac Tow, and I was behind her feeling the most profound sadness I’d ever felt in all of my seven years. My sister feels things deeply, and she has a sensitive and delicate heart. But she expresses herself differently than I do. I simply can’t stop myself from crying when I feel something intensely emotional. I wish there were some sort of Kegel exercises I could do for my eyes to help control my embarrassing deluges.

I know when the time comes for us to prepare for our next chapter everything will be alright. It’s just turning the page that’s the hard part.