I was standing in my kitchen tonight, peeling some old wrinkled apples in order to turn them into apple sauce, when my cell phone rang. It was my mom, calling from my sister’s concert. She was calling to tell me how much she wished I was there. I felt a quick, sharp pang near my heart and had to swallow before I could reply.
“I know, I wish I was there too.”
She narrated the goings-on for awhile, noting when a couple friends that reach back to our days at Bridlemile Elementary School walked in with their parents. The fact that my old friend Kate got to be there and I didn’t seemed hugely unfair in that moment. The running commentary continued as my dad walked up to her with a glass of Martinelli’s sparkling cider in one hand and a cookie in the other. He leaned in and shouted into the phone, “Hey Meece, we miss you!” We said our good-byes and hung up.
This is all part of the price I pay for choosing to live 3,000 miles away from my family. I participate in a lot of the big events via a telephone receiver. I am grateful I live in the age of cell phones, where instant connection with any member of my family is only the press of a speed-dial button away. But lately, when I’m having a bitch of a time reorienting to my life and not feeling particularly confident that things will turn out well for me, a cell phone isn’t a great comfort.
I hear what you are saying with this, since the main part of my family resides in the Lone Star state. What helps me get thru is the stuff there are missing on this end that you cant see in Texas.
I understand where you’re coming from … I too live miles and miles and hours & hours from my family. However, we are not very close, so I don’t experience these pangs of “distance” very often.
There always comes a time when you have to determine how you want to live. Are you in the right place? There are costs on both sides though.