It was just over four months ago that I made a decision to follow a long-time dream of mine: to live in Norway, the country I grew up hearing tales of from my mother; tales passed down to her from her mother who, having being born to Norwegian parents, once lived in Norway. It’s an identity I’ve had since childhood. After losing Brendan Bjørn in May 2022, I started to seriously consider following this dream to live in Norway. Some called me brave for making this move. Others likely called me foolhardy…or maybe that is just what I am calling myself now?

A swing and a miss, but at least I got up to the plate.
A fall complete with scraped knees, but at least I took a step.
A dream that didn’t work out, but at least I followed that dream.
Right?

We are coming back to Ireland.

No doubt, this has been an expensive dream to follow and it has cost me a bit more of my tenuous health as well. I will always love Norway and will return for frequent visits to our family here, God willing. And if Declan so chooses one day, he can return to live here in his adult life. But for me, with my chronic health and disability issues, with my age fast approaching 60, it is simply just too hard for me to make it.

I kick myself now most days.
My heart in tatters.
The should-haves and could-haves flood in as regret.
But at least I tried. At least now I know.

I aim to have us back in time for Declan to start 5th year, back amongst some of his childhood friends. There is a lot to be said for that and he’s looking forward to once again being close to them. Childhood only lasts so long and he will all too quickly be an adult going his own direction, wherever that may take him.

So, yeah. What more can I say? This is the latest news. Getting ready to move back across the North Sea and scouring the internet sites looking for that elusive rental in a select area in Ireland that will allow us to keep our 2 dogs with us until we find a home.

We are coming back to Ireland.
I’m somewhere between brave and foolhardy.
But at least I tried.