Today marks the ninth anniversary of our move to Montreal.
I remember sitting on the bus and wondering about my life, about us, about our future as a family. And I remember having this sad feeling too. This gut feeling that this was it, this was our final move and there was no turning back no matter what. Specially since we had left our extended families back in Lebanon which was at war with Israel. And nothing was ever going to be the same any more.
The future of our kids was what mattered most at the time. We kind of expected some of the difficulties my late husband and I would face. We had read accounts of families who had moved before us and we had heard about how difficult it was to find jobs here, full time jobs. All was fine and we were ready. My late husband was a hard working honest man who did everything for us, his family. He had this joie de vivre. He loved life and loved to laugh. He even joked about how he got his cancer passport before getting the Canadian one.
Cancer. That was something we were never prepared for. While we were busy making plans life happened. And on a day like today I can’t help but think of all the dreams we had that were never realized, of all his dreams, the unfinished projects and canvases he left behind. On a day like today I can’t help but think of the poem “Was There A Time” by Dylan Thomas:
“Was there a time when dancers with their fiddles
In children’s circuses could stay their troubles?
There was a time they could cry over books,
But time has sent its maggot on their track.
Under the arc of the sky they are unsafe.
What’s never known is safest in this life.
Under the sky signs they who have no arms
Have cleanest hands, and, as the heartless ghost
Alone’s unhurt, so the blind man sees best.”