Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave, and grow old wanting to get back to. ~John Ed Pearce

I’m from a large island province on the east coast of Canada.

Americans may be quite familiar with it for a few reasons: it is home to a lot of WWII American military installations, Argentia and Fort Pepperell and Harmon Airforce Base – some women in my grandmother’s generation married American servicemen and went off to the States to raise families.

But also during 9/11, Newfoundlanders took in thousands of stranded airline passengers who arrived on Canadian soil to find out their country was being attacked.

It is a place full of survivors, tough people who are fun, loving, welcoming and who stick together, not with each other only, I mean, stick together with humanity, adopt children from far away places, send money, help build their neighbour’s house or feed their neighbour’s children if money is scarce, and it was often scarce.

I hated that place as a kid. Trapped on an island, everyone looked the same, we were a have-not province, etc, etc.

This is the city where I was born, for all the mixed feelings I have about it. It's home.

But I sure do want to go home.

My grandmother, father and aunts are still there and I miss them as well as the familiarity and beauty of home.

But when you’re married, life involves compromises and maybe we will go back for a while, maybe not.

I live now for the good of my own family.

Though I’m really glad some of that love toward people, that desire to help has been bred into my bones.
I think it makes me a good counsellor and for that, I’m happy.

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