It’s 12:05 pm and I am waiting for my plane at the Saskatoon airport. Though I have been preparing for this day for more than two months, it doesn’t quite compute that this is actually happening. Perhaps it will make an impact upon me when I land in Paris and take the RER into the centre of the city. Right now, I am a combination of sad and numb. I barely held it all together when I said goodbye to my wife just a short while ago. Tears fell and I had to resort to some deep breathing in order to regain control.
I am making this pilgrimage alone. Other than the occasional conference or extended stays away from home for psychoanalysis, I haven’t done anything alone for over forty years. Two weeks ago we had a family reunion in our home and had the obligatory photo taken to mark the event. During the reunion, I tried to explain why I needed to go on this pilgrimage. My children accepted my choice without exception, but their spouses were confused. I don’t blame them. Even I don’t really understand why I got this call to go on a pilgrimage. All I know is that I must answer the call.