I've been mulling this post over for a long time. It crystalized further for me this morning, as I was feeling other times and rainy days in Paris.
All of the photos in this post were taken on my 1995 trip to Paris to stay with Madam Vera.
Maybe the black and white 35mm film I brought, was foreshadowing what was to come.
I arrived that rainy February day on the Rue Ballu to discover that my friend had died.
Paris cried right along with me.
These days, I am back to asking myself again: "How do you know when it's time to go?"
This question swirled for me a little over a year ago as I was trying to decide when to return here to the Chatette and Cadrieu, France.
I had been reading a lot of books about the resistance in WWII and the experiences of the Resistors, Polish and the Jewish people.
As I read, it was always eye-opening to see the timing, circumstances, and ultimate decisions that were made by various individuals and families as they considered whether to stay or go. These were life and death decisions.
I was asking myself, what if a time comes when I can't return? What if there comes a time when I am not allowed to leave the states? What if it becomes more and more difficult to travel?
As more and more young black men were murdered by police and the virus continued to grow exponentially; I began to feel less and less safe.
Feeling unsafe, I found myself making earlier and earlier departure dates. I went from Spring of 2021 to September 2020 to the first week of August 2020.
I'm grateful I did.
August 6 was the one year anniversary of that departure for me.
I still remember the swirling feelings of those times a year ago when I was focusing on what was best for departure.
Could there possibly come a time when I would have waited too long?
Watching the seemingly unplanned and unprepared evacuation of Afghanistan this week, dredged up this history of so many peoples.
I found myself wondering if our Afghan Allies, NATO Allies, Embassy Personnel, Contractors, News Correspondents/Outlets, and others; were asking themselves these same questions? Had they been watching and wondering about all that was going on? Had they been feeling unsafe? Did they feel like they needed to go? Even if they did, did they have the means to do so? I watch this unfold from afar. I'm asking myself when is too late? Is it too late now?
And, how fortunate was I to have the circumstances, means, and opportunity to make my choice when I did?
Very Fortunate.
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