Not a big deal to most, I know, but to me it begs the question of whether I should buy another one or not. We’re leaving this house in less than three weeks and we’re leaving the country altogether in five. Forever. Our little family of four is all signed up to become a permanent resident of the United States and nothing more than a statistic to Ireland. We leave on Friday 13th July.
Unlike many others, we are not being forced out of our country by the economic downturn. We’re used to being broke. We’ve never had much money here, yet we’ve managed to carve out a happy, relatively comfortable life. We’ve never owned a house but we’ve made homes in the ones we’ve rented. The Celtic Tiger somehow managed to pass us by, but that only meant its death was no loss to us. The fact that after years of trying – getting extra qualifications, setting up a business, working for minimum wage or worse, for nothing – we are no further up the proverbial success ladder meant that when my number finally came up, twelve years after I applied, and I was summoned to the great round building in Ballsbridge, I ran there as fast as my best stilettos would allow and insisted the three males I’ve accumulated wore shirts. I even ironed them.
Emigrating is not a big deal to me. I’ve done it before. I was young, dumped and jobless, so I signed a two year contract to work in The Gulf in 2000. I wasn’t sure quite which gulf it was until the day before I left but I reduced my life to two suitcases and off I went into the unknown. I had a ball and stayed three years. This time it’s a bit different.
This time I have a husband and kids in tow. My husband has far more family to leave behind than I do. All the glitter of NYC will be dulled for him somewhat. My kids are seven and four. They are right at the beginning of their lives. Some say it’s a great age to move them. I feel like we are possibly influencing the course of their destiny by this move more than we have by any parenting decision we’ve ever made. For the record, we are subscribers to the go-with-the-flow school of parenting. I believe and really hope this rare decisive action we’re taking is for the best.
This time too, I know where I’m going, at least initially. We’re going to my mother’s house. She left for the US in 1992 with her husband and two small children and it was truly a leap into the unknown for them. They have done well. To an extent, us going now is history repeating.
To an extent, we have it easy. To an extent, this is a no-brainer for us. However, no life-changing uprooting comes without its doubts. So, should I buy another jar of cumin before we go or not?
