Well, here we are, folks! Departure day! The trip is far from over but today is the day that I check out of the hotel and start making my way south to return to Moncton, where I will catch my return flight to Saskatchewan tomorrow morning. I COULD have spent an additional day in Campbellton and visited my folks again. The issue is that my return flight departs at about 6 am tomorrow morning, which means I would have to start driving from Campbellton around 1 o’clock in the morning in order to make boarding. In all honesty, I’m getting too old for that shit. On my last trip here, I travelled to Moncton a day early and spent a night there, allowing me to drive 30 seconds up the road to the airport. It made for a much more restful departure and I didn’t risk smacking every moose in the Province by traveling in the dark. But I digress… I’m going to do the tourist thing in this post, considering it was my last day wandering around, yesterday.
My day yesterday once again started with breakfast with a friend, followed by a slow, relaxing drive down the coastline to Dalhousie. It’s one of those things where you don’t appreciate what you have until it’s gone. After all, I spent almost thirty years in this area and drove that road more times than I could possibly count. But during in youth, I never appreciate the immense beauty of the open bay, rolling Appalachian Mountains or the wonderful views scattered all about the area. It isn’t until now, as an adult, that I’m able to look at all these sights and ask myself how/why I ever left this place. I was quickly reminded, mind you. But the thought was still there. You see, living in a bigger city has spoiled me, after all fashion. If it’s 10 o’clock at night and I decide I need a pizza, I have tons of options. If someone in our household is sick and needs something, i know of at least three 24-hour pharmacies in my city. There are no such availabilities in my home town where time has literally stood still, and the sidewalks almost literally roll up around dinner time.
Once I reached Dalhousie, I got right down to business; visiting my folks. It’s been a difficult run this time around. My mother has become so tiny and diminutive, she’s almost the size of my 11-year son. She was semi-awake, but not responding to me in any meaningful way. She frowned and stared at me, almost as though she was wading through a very deep pool of memories, trying to determine who I was. Having learned my lesson on my last visit, I didn’t press her or try to explain that I was her son. I learned fairly quickly that it won’t help. I sat with her for a time, said my goodbyes and stepped out of her room. She didn’t even move enough to see me off or acknowledge my departure. I usually describe on these trips how strange it feels to come “home” with no home to come back to. After all, in the past, I would always go to my mother’s home. Always the steady rock of the family, she was always the one that arranged meals, gave me a place to sleep and took care of me when I visited. Now, I’m 100% a tourist in the very town I grew up in.
But this time, what I’ve realized that it’s far harder to recognize that the woman who was an absolute anvil, loud and full of life, who lifted me up and cradled me as a child, was now a tiny person the size of one of my own children and the person I knew is already forever gone. It’s a sobering thought that slaps one in the face with a dose of reality that life is short and fleeting. Things with my father weren’t much better. He’s now permanently on oxygen and doesn’t budge from his bed. He barely spoke to me, despite being awake. According to the staff, he’s also beginning to show signs of dementia, but I was able to converse a little with him. It felt like he was more focused on his television than on me. At one point, I even asked him if he wanted me to go so he could watch his show. All he did was grunt. I stepped out shortly after. The icing on the cake is the care home staff, who sit in their little alcove that covers all the entrances that one could use, who always seem to need to ask, “Leaving so soon?” Fuck off, dude. I don’t need your snide comments. Moving on.
I moved through my afternoon by walking around the Inch Arran beach area, snapping the photos you’re seeing in this post and reminiscing about all the good times I’ve had when I lived here. The passage of time doesn’t change. The sea and the mountains don’t change. At least not on a scale that one perceives within their lifetime. But the one consistent change is the lack of familiar faces. No more locals that I knew or could connect with. I had the opportunity to visit with some dear friends but ironically, all of them except for my Sensei reside outside the immediate area. The biggest and headgear lesson of all is gaining the realization that despite I kept labeling this trip as “coming home,” this I any longer my home. And no longer a place that holds any purpose in coming back to. Obviously, my folks are still here and there will continue to be intermittent visits until they’ve passed on. But the charm and value of this place no longer exists for me. I miss my actual home. And my family. It will be good to get back.
My evening concluded with a visit to my aunt and uncle, who made a wonderful spaghetti for supper. We shared great conversation and stories, my uncle showed me their new SUV and I even had the opportunity to go on a short drive on his side-by-side. I’ve never been on one before and it was quite fun. We wandered the woods, only for about fifteen minutes but he showed me all the functions of the machine and how fast it could go. I enjoyed it. Once the sun went down and it started getting dark, I respectfully bowed out and prepped to leave, especially since both of them were yawning intently and I knew they would both be up at dawn to go to work. Once back at my hotel room, I crashed unceremoniously and enjoyed the only day this week where I managed to sleep in past 7 am. Of course, I’ll have adjusted to this time zone just in time to fly back to Saskatchewan, which is 3 hours behind the time here. That should be entertaining.
I’ve often heard the expression “You can’t go home again.” I’ve never really understood that expression before because I’ve always believed that of course you can! It’s costly and takes time and effort, but one can totally go home. The real problem is that eventually, home isn’t home anymore. THAT’s the reality that people usually fail to understand. But I’ve learned that lesson this time around. When I leave New Brunswick tomorrow morning to head back to Saskatchewan, it will likely be for the last time except for coming back to bury my mother and father. A sad reality of life that can often be hard to swallow. But such is life. It will be good to be back with my family, and even go back to work. Hopefully, the place held up in my absence. I’m on my way now, stopping in to visit Sensei’s son and my “brother,” Guillaume, on the way. It will be good to see him. Tomorrow’s post will be the last Odyssey entry for this trip, but I’m sure I’ll have plenty to bitch about regarding the flights, travel in general and all the people I’ll have to deal with. Que sera… ☯️
The Blogging Buddhist 