And then

...my guardian angel was able to come through.  A stroke of good luck, one that propels us forward again, gets us out of the hellish pit of not knowing.  Our home feels like home again, not like the jail it had become, stacks upon stacks of everything.

I'm exhausted and grateful.  Who knows what financial aid battles I have yet to fight, but I am grateful for the chance that was taken for my benefit, which puts wind beneath my wings again.

(Yes, I know, that phrase was essentially trademarked many years ago.  But it's the truth, and thankfully, I can't think of a better way to express it.)

Now, to hope that tomorrow is relatively simple, with another trip to the moving company to sign revised documents, and another credit card slip, this one for Jen's mom (who is just as much of an angel) to sign, as she offered to front the funds to pay for the movers, which we'll be able to pay back to her once we're settled in Canada.

Now, this is definitely a question of privilege and can't truly be answered, but how many other students have fought tooth and nail to put forth the best applications they could to their most-hoped-for school, felt the joy of clearing that hurdle and being accepted, and methodically put all their eggs in that basket, only to have a financial aid department have the real final say in the matter?  

It's not even a matter of small print: it's like you go somewhere for a meal and it tastes good, but then they serve you something bizarre and distasteful that you didn't order, and lock you in and hover over you and force you to eat it before you're allowed to leave.