I came home a lot sooner than expected. My first 24 hours in Ireland were marked by meltdown after meltdown. The rug had been pulled out from under me and I sat in Dublin airport for hours, explaining the situation to my friends and family via FaceTime and iMessage before I caught my bus to Limerick, not knowing what the days ahead would bring.
All of my plans involved me being gone for a minimum of three months. I expected to come home in June at the very earliest. I thought I’d spend Bloomsday in Dublin. But I wasn’t allowed three months. I had a thirty-day limit, but within 24 hours of touching Irish soil, I knew I was going home, and soon. Continue reading