***I actually wrote this yesterday but didn’t get a chance to hit publish. As I do so now, I’m sitting in a train station in Birmingham, waiting for the train that will take us to our final destination, right next to Hubby and with a sleeping Missy strapped to my chest.***
I wanted to write a deep and meaningful post about how, ever since college, I’d always wanted to visit Montreal. About how I’d romanticized it because it was supposed to be so European and they spoke French. About how the reality of living here has tarnished the perfect, gleaming, snow globe of Montreal that existed in my mind. About how it might be a nice place to visit (ahem, in the summer) but proved brutal to live in year-round. About how, in our final weeks here, I was eager to buy souvenirs of our daughter’s time in Canada, but Hubby insisted there was little about his own (work) experience he wanted to commemorate.
I wanted to write that post, but this will have to do. It’s our last day in Montreal. And, fittingly, it’s rainy, cold, and windy–a reminder of what we’re leaving behind (in favor of a rainy, windy, slightly-less-cold place by the sea).
Au revoir, Montreal. You weren’t wholly unkind to us. You took care of me before my daughter was born and both of us after. You gave us a few summer excursions and forced us to step outside our comfort zone. I don’t know if or when we’ll be back, but I’m not ready to say “never.” With time and distance, we might even remember you fondly.