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Son’s holiday with us is now over and it has been fun; slightly surreal having him under our feet after so long away, but fun. The cats certainly enjoyed having extra fuss, his two-year old god-daughter got to know him and his grand-father loved every moment that he was able to spend with him.

The down-side? Baking. I wanted to fill my cupboards with cakes and biscuits, I wanted to feed my son while he was here. He wouldn’t let me. He didn’t want to return to Canada with a pot belly. Luckily, since son has been away, husband and I have changed our eating habits and now eat ultra-healthy – hence our weight-loss – so son just joined in. He’s actually going back to Canada lighter than he was when he arrived, which must be a first.

As I write this, son will have been in the air for just over two and a half hours, not even half way back to Toronto yet. We have been home for two and a half hours and the house seems empty and quiet. I’ll have to get used to the silence all over again.

He has made his decision and he is going to try to stay in Canada – if they will have him. I might not like it, but I understand his decision. Part of me can even see that maybe it is the right thing for him. I look around my own town which has changed so much in the past ten years; it is unrecognisable to the town that I grew up in. It is now a town where I don’t feel safe to go out in the evening, a town where street drinkers crowd around the street corners, a town where graffiti artists think it is right to destroy children’s art.

So yes, I might not like that fact that son is going to start a life in a different country, but when I look at what my town has become, I can see why he might not want to stay.