The tile has been in and out of the box, on and off the table for several years, occasionally fingered thoughtfully before laid aside. C-boy and P-DiL’s cousins north of the US border dangle it in front of the couple whenever they can. The domino represents Canada. P-DiL and her brother are close to their Canadian cousins, almost identical in age, the closeness enriched by the death of the cousins’s mother when they were young. P-DiL’s mother stepped in as a long-distance surrogate.
It happens. Cousins and siblings grow up, move away from each other, and life is going fine until the babies come, the hunger for extended family and the memories of sibling and cousin adventures goading one to reconnect. Now, all those cousins and P-DiL have children close to the same age. A Canadian husband bonded with C-boy and, surrounded by estrogen, begs C-boy to add more testosterone to the mix. It is tempting.
C-boy asked me how I would feel if they emigrated to Canada. Mike and I have never wanted to tie our kids to our life. I was honest when I replied they needed to do what was best for their family. The advantage of Chicago is we can visit other family and friends. But we can easily fly to Toronto. “Just be close to a major airport” is my mantra.
Truthfully, there was a ripple of envy. I recalled our time living in Germany in the early 1980s. Canada is not Germany. The experiences would be different with similar language and cultures, the move driven by different motives: we moved for Mike’s job, they would move for family. Our time in Europe was an energizing, frustrating, lonely, exciting time. I hated returning to the States and would move to Europe in an instant if I could. Blame it on my Jungian collective unconscious, I feel at home there.
Several years ago, uneasy about the direction our country was going, I subscribed to a Canadian newsfeed to feel out the political climate in our beloved neighbor. As COVID hit and divisions grew in our country, I noticed parallel temperaments north of the border. Can that be? Aren’t Canadians peace-loving, generous Americans? A friend slashed a black line across my dreams, relating how their house had been broken into when they lived in Canada. What?! There is crime in Canada? A chance encounter with camping Canadians at Glacier Park confirmed my fears: we are all North Americans with crazy extremes and plenty of faults that may or may not balance the blessings. A move to Canada cannot rest merely on political preferences.
Is this a prominent domino? I don’t think so. But it is definitely on the pile.
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