It was this time of year about 2 years ago when I got sick. Spring was in the air. The warmth after a long Canadian winter was finally doing more than just tease. Our family was planning details of summer vacation and Father’s Day was on the horizon. My kids were in the home stretch of the school year. In fact, my youngest daughter was finishing grade 1. As a mom, I had looked forward to this year with anticipation. Not that I didn’t want to spend time with my kids, but given I would have 7 hours each day to myself, I started to dream. I dreamt about how I could flaunt my new-found independence. Would I take on one or two projects that meant the world to me? Would I start work full-time again? Would I do a Pilates at any time of the day?
The smell of the ocean air and tantalising food mix with the sounds of waves crashing. The warmth of the moist air and gentle morning breeze caress our skin. The sound of kids laughing and playing in the shimmering aqua pool. The view of a sunrise from the top of a volcano that is unique and can't be seen anywhere else in the world. The thrill of careening far above the tropical trees on a zip line.