Damn it. In 24 hours I will be on the RER-B headed toward the airport. I'm going to the States - again. My mother recently had double knee replacement surgery and will need someone to stay with her while she gets back on her feet, literally. My sister, who lives nearby, has been taking care of our mom through this process the past few weeks and I need to come home and give her some much-deserved time off. My mother sort of decided at the last minute that she wanted her "French" daughter to be around, too, and so she gifted me the airfare. I'm glad to be able to go there and be supportive of my mom, and I'm especially glad that my freelance working life allows me to just go when I need to go without having ask some boss for the time off.
But it comes at a price, this "free" trip. I also have to be apart from the person I love the most in the world in order to be with other people I love a whole lot.
This is the hardest part of living abroad. It's the part you don't really want to think about when you're making the decision to move across an ocean, the part where you will be far away from people you love. And that maybe, just maybe, you won't always be able to be there when they need you most. Of course I knew this was a factor given my own age when I came here (45) and my mother's advancing age. I knew that by leaving, I'd be in effect dumping all future direct elder care issues on my sister because it's not like I can hop in the car and drive over there on a moment's notice. And I have to live with the knowledge that some day, my mother will pass over, and I may or may not get the chance to be there at the end. These are things over which I have no control, and although it makes me sad to think of it, I have to remind myself that I'm doing the best I can.
For the moment, though, my mom is okay and came home yesterday from the rehab place (Sis is staying with her until I get there and she's done a great job of organizing all the after-care nursing and therapy) so on this trip, at least, I am not dealing with a worst-case scenario, for which I am very grateful. What I AM dealing with, however, is a bit of guilt over the mixed feelings I am having about the whole thing. While I'm glad I'm in a position to go there and help, I also hate leaving my wonderful husband for so long (11 days) and I will also miss the kids who are on the verge of being done with school and going off to their summer holidays; after tomorrow morning I won't even see the Little Guy until August!
So for the next 11 days, my heart will be split in two directions. Half of it will be glad I'm with my mom because I know she really needs me, the other half will be aching to come home to Georges. Half of me will be happy I can be a good daughter, the other half would much rather go back to being a wife again. The bottom line is, I'm torn between my old life and my new life. In my new life, I'm happier. I'm well in my skin, as we say, and I'm able to be my true self. In my old life, I'm happy to see people I love (although I'm actually going to miss seeing my best friend this time as she'll be away on her family vacation) and to stay connected to my past, but every moment I'm there, I'm thinking about how I'd rather be HERE.
It is what it is, of course. This is part of the choice you make when you decide to move far away from your roots, even if all your reasons for moving are the "right" ones. I knew what I was getting into when I came here, and then when I fell in love with Georges I knew what it meant to my family life back home. There's no "solution" other than to accept it, do the best I can, and try to be happy in the moment on whichever side of the ocean I'm on.
But it still sucks. The wishbone never wins. I'm just saying.
