My husband and I have lived in 7 different homes since we first moved in together 10 years ago. Some were short-term, some much longer. As we gear up for another move, this time feels different. As we’ve gotten older, our roots have grown where we live. Those roots sprouted and shot off in different directions, burrowing deep down into the soil, anchoring us where we are. Our lives have become stable and familiar. Having a child has only increased the depth of those roots and having a disabled child, well; the therapists and specialists alone have become all-important ties.
We don’t have any family nearby, the majority of our friends have left or are leaving (one of the biggest downsides of being an expat) and my work has all but dried up and yet, and yet, there is a tinge of sadness with this move. We had our civil wedding here, Kasper was born here, we built our careers here and we fell in love with this area. In fact, when we moved here, we kept saying we’d never leave. It’s been our home for 7 years.
“Where are you moving to?” you ask. You’d think the other side of the world from what I’m saying but, no, we’re moving just over an hour’s drive away from where we currently live. Most people are surprised we’re even moving for my husband’s new job. “Why doesn’t he just commute?” Why indeed. Let me explain. Switzerland is a fascinating little country. It’s absolutely tiny compared to some of the world’s gigantic countries; however, it is culturally and linguistically very varied. There are four national languages: Swiss German, French, Italian and Romansh. Where we currently live is French-speaking. Both of us studied French at university and need French for our jobs so while moving here was daunting at first, we knew we had the language skills to get by. Now, my husband will work in the Swiss German-speaking part of Switzerland and soon we will be living there. Just a side-note, it is still totally mind-blowing for me that you can drive just a few hours and pass through three different language zones within the same borders. I love it. Why am I telling you all of this? It’ll make sense soon, I promise.
We are a bilingual household. I speak to Kasper in English and my husband speaks to him in German. It’s been that way since the day he was born. When we learned that he would have intellectual disabilities, we decided to continue speaking to him in our mother tongues for continuity. However, all his therapies and childcare are in French. And, even though he seems to understand some French, he definitely understands and responds more to English or German (unsurprisingly). I can’t help but wonder if having three languages in his life play a role in his delayed speech. I know this is not the main reason he is non-verbal, but surely, it must be overwhelming hearing three languages on a daily basis. Dropping down to two languages can be only be a step in the right direction. So, this is one reason to move.
From time to time we’ve wondered “should we move back to England? Should we move back to Germany? Should we stay?” The pandemic, aging parents and missing family further muddy the waters. At the centre of the decision lies Kasper. Here in Switzerland he is supported from all directions. His weekly therapies are covered by insurance and his medical care is second to none. I have never paid a single penny for his medical bills or therapies and neither have I had to fight tool and nail for assistance. Stay in Switzerland we must.
We toyed with the idea of moving to the German speaking part of Switzerland in the past but with no real reason to move there except for the linguistic advantages for Kasper, we decided against it. This new job opportunity offers us new hope. A place to live with two languages instead of three – making life easier for our non-verbal little love. This move is a chance to start somewhere fresh. There are new job opportunities for us both. There’s a chance to meet new people and make new friends. There’s also the tantalising possibility of buying property in the future since it is absolutely impossible where we currently live. And yet, it is still hard to leave.
We live on the top two floors of a converted farmhouse. The ceilings have a cathedral/ark-like quality. Beams hug you from all sides. Light streams through the windows, especially in my favourite reading corner where I’m currently sitting. Today I can hear rain pattering softly on the velux windows. Foxes, hedgehogs and cats regularly shuffle through the grass in the fields behind our apartment. In the winter we can watch people cross-country ski past our living room windows. Upstairs my husband and I sleep under the eaves, feeling cocooned under the roof and protected from the world. This apartment has been our haven throughout the pandemic. We’ve been able to walk in the forest, see deer dart out the foliage, show our son farm animals, go to the playground, listen to summer storms and howling winds from our sofa and sit in the almost silence of the countryside. What I’m glossing over are the bad things. Yes, we are protected up here in our ivory tower but, man; it has been lonely throughout the pandemic. Far from the city, far from people, far from civilization (at least that’s how it felt at times), it was easy to feel removed from the world. In summer you can’t sit on the balcony after sunset because swarms of mosquitos descend and devour you. The balcony roof leaks, the toilet flush has been broken for months, fly larvae breeds under rugs in the summer, bees live in the beams, the mentally ill neighbour screamed day and night for a solid 12 months and we had to sleep in the living room several nights a week until she was put in a secure home, we rent so it’s not even ours, there are several flights of stairs I have to carry my son up several times a day, the stairs are dangerous inside the apartment, the balcony is dangerous for our son and exposed plug sockets have been taped over for two years unfixed. You get the picture. Silence and solitude have been bittersweet.
We know moving is the right decision. We’ve known it since my husband saw the job advertised. We feel it in our hearts. Finding a new apartment, a new job, four new therapists, a new neurologist, a new paediatrician, new childcare and a new carer make me want to lie down on the cracked tiles with the fly larvae and wait until a responsible adult comes and takes over. But, we’ve done this before and we can do it again. Long-term this is the right decision. This move isn’t just about us anymore but our sweet little boy/mischievous rascal, who is our whole world. Who knows, maybe there are unseen bonuses ahead. It’s not going to be easy but that’s what adventures are about, right? Besides, if home is where the heart is then apartment number 8 will be home too.
