Here's the thing: I don't think everything through clearly. I mean, I try to use common sense. I avoid potholes in the road (when I see them). I hold my daughter's hand when we cross the street (usually under duress). I try not to make egregious errors at work that would result in an outcry of parent phone calls about the teacher who is ruining their child's life (one or two is acceptable, right?). But when it comes to major life decisions, I sort of fly by the seat of my pants. Or, rather, trousers, as the impetus for my consternation is my having moved halfway across the world.
Let me begin by saying I love England. I have always loved England. So much so that four years ago when I told everyone I know that I was moving here with the man I would soon marry, no one was really very surprised. And as I was no stranger to packing up my belongings and venturing to a far off land, I was excited and full of sanguine thoughts. Yes, of course it occurred to me that I would be starting a life, and hopefully, a family. Yes, I knew that my own American family was longer going to be within Sunday dinner's driving distance. But like I said, I didn't anticipate the details too far into the future.
Lately, however, it seems like my lack of planning and preparation for the emotional journey is taking its toll. It's not one incident, but a compilation of various components. Let's start with my brothers and sister. My sister in law and I got pregnant at the same time, which was basically as soon as I moved here. Although our daughters know of each other and have met multiple times over four separate trips back to America, they don't "know" each other. This breaks my heart a little as I know how close I was to my cousins growing up, and how close we still are. Rarely would a week go by when my little sister didn't see her cousins who are her age. For years. And speaking of my sister, I think my move has hurt her the most. She's getting married in a little under 17 months, and although I am to stand at her side, proudly and lovingly, I feel like I'm cheating. I get to have that privilege and yet am barely able to commit to helping plan, organise, and choose, well, anything. I show up the day before the rehearsal dinner, rehearse, celebrate. It feels unfair, not to mention the fact that I barely know her fiance. That just feels weird.
Lastly, there are the parents and grandparents. Here is more guilt. My dad's mother just had a birthday and my mom's mom seems to lose a little piece of herself each week. I'm missing their final years, obviously. Sure, I could call more, write more, get Elizabeth to send oodles of arts and crafts, and I try! And I could keep a small paparazzi company in business with all the photos I take and post online. But really, it comes down to time. And priorities. And at the end of the day, I have a full life here in England, where I live.
Most importantly, as I watch my daughter grow, I feel a maternal need to speak to my mother daily. One or two video calls a week is simply not enough to get that familiar sentiment. I am baffled that this did not occur to me before. I am astounded to think that I thought I could raise a daughter without her daily influence. Perhaps I thought I was stronger. Perhaps I am, and I'm just waiting for it to kick in.
At the end of the day, I know the guilt is my deal. I'm the one who has made these choices and I'm the one who has to get over it. But that doesn't stop me from feeling like a terrible sister, daughter, and granddaughter at times. Especially as my own precious daughter reaches milestones that can only be experienced by my family through Skype, iChat, and Google chat.
