Eight Years

Globe Spotter

My sister reminded me the other day that eight years ago this week, our family packed up the last of our things and trudged across the Atlantic to make a new home in a country we kids knew little about and were not particularly fond of (mainly because it meant the separation from our beloved home, friends, and childhood). I remember when we were first told that my dad had gotten the job and accepted it – it was right before our ski retreat with the youth group – and William’s reflexive, stubborn declaration (has anything changed?) that he was NOT moving to Sweden (which was obviously swiftly overruled, albeit tenderly).

I remember how we stepped through the door of the apartment where we were to stay until we found a home that first day in Stockholm, smelling the foreign, vaguely smoke-stained aroma of the place. Another family’s things filled…

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