WE ARE GOING TO ANTARCTICA

Not really, but when we were moving to Canada, that’s what I told the kids.

Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t lie. They knew we were moving to Canada. But I wanted to set them up for success, to plant in their minds the idea that we were embarking on an adventure. I wanted their expectations to be that we’d arrive in a place almost entirely covered in ice.

We moved to Canada three months after Sean passed away. We moved heartbroken, carrying grief in our suitcases alongside winter jackets we barely knew how to wear. We came from Panama City, a city of blazing sun, warm air, and ocean breezes. Landing here felt like stepping off the plane into Antarctica.

The weather was colder, yes bitter winds, snowbanks taller than the kids, nights that stretched longer than we were used to. But that’s when I would remind them: we bring our own heat. We carry it inside us, in our laughter, in the way we stick together, in the invisible fire that love leaves behind.

And my Panamanian boys… they nailed it. They embraced the snow, the ice, the new reality. They were tough, so brave, so inspiring. They proved that there’s nothing we can’t accomplish.

Together, we can do anything. I’ve got them, and they’ve got me. Life changes. Life hits you hard. It has ups and downs, and sometimes the downs are so far down you wonder if you’ll ever climb out again. But life is a wheel, and it keeps turning.

And in those turns, my kids remind me of something essential: they are my greatest teachers. At five, Charlie shows me how joy can live in the smallest things, in falling snowflakes or in riding his bike for the very first time. At eleven, Gab teaches me resilience, how to carry responsibility with a sweet smile. They show me, every day, that even in the coldest winters, Antarctica, Canada, or the quiet spaces of grief, there is warmth if you’re willing to see it.