Destiny and The Hand Dealt

On our last night in Newfoundland, my eldest son broke all our hearts by beginning to cry, hard. Tears running down my own face, I held him tight, told him what his blood already knows: it's a special place.

"It's always hard to leave," I told him. "It never gets easier."

I kissed his salty hair, unwashed in who knows how many days, cupped his face in my hands and looked deep into his eyes. Crying makes them greener, like my own.

I smiled.

"It's hard," I repeated. "But I can never be sorry I left this place, because when I left it, I met you."