“I guess we’re moving to Canada.”
It was a quiet, almost outrageous statement considering our position. Just a few weeks earlier, Hurricane Dorian had slammed into our home in the Bahamas, a country I’d lived in my entire life.
My family had spent 24 hours trapped in our attic, praying the roof would hold before evacuating to nearby Florida.
Once we arrived, we found ourselves stuck in immigration limbo.
For as long as possible, we tried to remain in Florida, close to home. However, in the wake of the disaster, the US authorities limited many Bahamians to stays of only a few weeks, our family among them.
We had no legal option to stay in the US long-term, but we didn’t want to return to devastation, either. This left us with very little time to figure out a future for our 6-year-old daughter and four dogs.
Canada started to seem like our best option, since the country was actively looking for immigrants, with pathways toward legal permanent residency.
We weren’t confident in our choice, but we committed. I wish I’d known what was in store for us over the next three weeks.
We spent the next few weeks searching for signs and navigating red tape
Once we’d set our sights on Canada, we narrowed our search to areas that met our nonnegotiables: Our home had to be near the ocean and within driving distance of some of our relatives in the US.
We looked into school districts and housing costs and settled on a small town we’d only ever seen on Google Maps and Google Earth.
From our temporary place in Florida, I cried and squinted over blurry Street Views, looking for a sign from the universe.
During the most frantic time of my life, I learned to pay attention to the things that soothed my soul and made me breathe easier.
The endless forests lining the residential streets, the deer-crossing signs, and the knowledge that the ocean would be just a short drive away were our consolations.
My wife found a home on a local real-estate site that was the size and location we were hunting for. When we spotted a seashell from the tropics sitting on the bathroom counter in the grainy photos, it felt like a sign from the universe that we were on the right path.
When we showed up, the place turned out to be the perfect fit.
Of course, our journey wasn’t as simple as just selecting a property to call home. Moving to a brand-new country can be a legal maze full of dead ends.
We knew we needed help with our immigration applications almost right away, but we didn’t know anyone in the field to ask questions.
We reached out to every Canadian we knew, asking for a referral to an immigration attorney. It didn’t take long to find one: the ex-wife of our daughter’s camp counselor’s sister. The world might be a big place, but six degrees of separation is still a solid link.
The paperwork was overwhelming. Every time I thought we finally had everything, our lawyer emailed another list of documents we needed. I ended up calling in favors back home and begging officials for copies of things as I struggled with the delays and extra stress.
I learned the hard way that I should have all our important documents in the cloud before ever needing them.
The whirlwind move wasn’t pretty, but 6 years later, I’m still glad we did it
Moving to a new country with only three weeks of preparation is unhinged.
For a long time, we struggled with mental-health issues from the trauma of the hurricane and the quick, major changes that followed.
I didn’t handle the stress well at all. I threw a fork at the dinner table once and had a full-on anxiety attack when I couldn’t find the car keys.
To-do lists became my lifeline, and eventually, I accepted that I couldn’t make the process perfect. It took years of therapy to feel stable again and for our new home to really feel like home.
Eventually, we managed to focus on the good in Canada, even though it was so different from where we’d lived before. We learned our new country had more in common with the Bahamas than we realized, like an abundance of kind people and dedicated families.
Today, we even tease our daughter that she is more Canadian than Bahamian when she insists she doesn’t need a coat in sub-zero temperatures.
At times, we catch ourselves acting very much like the locals — complaining about the weather constantly and apologizing for everything.
Six years later, I’m confident this move was the best decision we could have made for ourselves and our family. However, I still tell people, “Don’t move to a new country with only three weeks of planning!”
Sometimes, though, there’s little choice in the matter. And whether it’s been planned for three weeks or three years, a move won’t ever be perfect.
Moving to a new country quickly is ridiculous, complex, and emotional, but survivable — and you can find peace on the other side of the chaos.
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