Breaking the Silence: Re-Patriatism by Fire and the Elephant that Survived it ALL

Though I have yet to mentally or emotionally sort through the past few months of my life, it feels like it is time to clear my throat. I left for Spain with two posts in incubation and unfortunately they still haven’t hatched. I desperately wanted to have them published before moving on, but we will just have to take things out of chronological order for the time being. Our time here in France is nearly at an end and this final exhale feels a bit like dying. If I am to be honest, I wouldn’t have expected this to be the case. There have been times when this has felt a whole lot like a prison sentence from which we were uncertain we would ever be released. Now that life has, as it always does, thrown us the proverbial curve ball, we find ourselves skulking back to the dugout with our collective heads hung low. Perhaps we are nothing more than a case study in a more elaborate discussion of the “Institutional Syndrome” or perhaps this is something more. It feels as though we have been forever altered by this experience on a quasi-molecular level. Something has changed that one can’t quite place their finger on. Something has been in some way imprinted or perhaps even overwritten by our time here in France. One would be a fool to say that such a radical change in one’s life would not leave lasting effects, but the degree to which I feel in some way changed is so startling to me that I am having trouble formulating the words to describe it.

As our remaining days here slip through our fingers like grains of sand, there is the notable presence of an Elephant in the room. We each know it’s there, but dare not speak it’s name. It has been easy enough to ignore it given the busy nature of readying oneself for yet another international relocation and is perhaps one of the main reasons I have neglected this project for the past couple of months. Truth be told, I have been out of France more than I have been in it these last two months and now with only two weeks remaining I feel cheated. While I would argue that the mood around the Butler household is optimistic and filled with the euphoria created by the prospect of beginning a new chapter in our lives, the Elephant insists that we pay him his due. It must be said that from an administrative perspective, moving back to the US has proven to be much more challenging than it was to move to France to begin with. We are tasked with disposing of all small electronics and other such items that simply can’t be plugged back in when we settle back in the US. In addition, cars must be sold and new one’s re-purchased. Combined with the fact that we are functionally homeless, the stress of it all can be a bit overwhelming. All the items that we left in the US were damaged or destroyed by the fire and as such we have to go on a major retail outing right out of the box which doesn’t lend itself to good consumer decisions. I hate purchasing out of necessity and am almost never happy with the outcome. This is really just a whole lot of complaining to mask the fact that what is really bothering us is the LEAVING part.

We have friends here . . . we have a life here, and though it is not the one we have chosen as our final destination, it will be hard to say goodbye. I will miss our friends, my beloved 206, fresh baked bread and the dozens of other things we have come to love about France. It seems that for me, the only way to combat this is to dwell on the things I DON’T like about life here in France. I look forward to convenience, plentiful breakfast options and the ability to speak my mind without a dictionary and thesaurus. Still, the question must be asked . . . have we made the right decision? The destruction of our home forced our hand, but would it have been better to walk away and leave it all behind for permanent residence abroad? The boys would have benefited from additional time with the language that is no longer afforded, and though I am hopeless the wife is progressing well now. The Pachyderm of doubt weighs heavy on our shoulders in these final few moments amongst the vines. So, in order to wipe the slate clean, I feel I need to get back to where we started and I must purge my soul through this writing. After all, we have never spent a great deal of time in our lives looking back. Ever forward . . . MARCH. That is the Butler way. There are houses to build, friends to re-connect with, careers to re-kindle. No time for pouting over what might have been or our fears of what is yet to come. For now I will leave it at that and focus on the future by going back to the past. I MUST catch back up. I WILL finish the entries that were left unfinished, and in doing so, find the passion for life that seems to have slipped away in all this shuffling about. Hold on tight. Like the first pebble breaking free from the dam, there will certainly be a landslide to follow, so stay tuned. Until next time. R.