Ever since my husband and I got married, I’ve wanted to live in Norway. He’s from Norway, and we got married in Molde. I feel like it would be such a great place for my kids to call home. Stable, safe, and beautiful. There are many reasons that we haven’t moved to Norway yet. I have a son, my oldest, from a previous marriage. Our decree stated that we were to reside in the same city unless there was a super compelling reason not to and it would have to go through court. I felt very strongly that I had made a commitment to my ex-husband to co-parent and be a family for him. Also, shorty after we married, my brother got diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and my father was very ill. We didn’t know how long my brother or my father would be around. With pancreatic cancer especially, the life outcome is usually very bleak. My brother in fact ended up living about 6 years after diagnosis and got to do quite a few things on his “bucket list” so for that I am grateful at least. My dad ended up dying 5 months before my brother, which was what he wanted…to go so he didn’t have to see his son go. To make things even crazier, my sister was diagnosed with breast cancer about a month before my dad died. She’s been okay for now, but still, she had to do chemo, radiation, and the whole 9 yards. As you can imagine, it was important for me to stay and be strong. My resolve was to move to Norway once my oldest was out of high school, but I always let my mind wander and race to figure out how to do it sooner. Well, for about a year and a half I felt like I was healing from all of the sorrow. Then my ex calls me out of the blue and says he got into grad school 6 hours away from where we live and intended to take my son with him. I spent gross amounts of money to fight it with everything I had because I felt that he was making a terrible decision…to take our boy away from the only place he remembers as home. My son was ultimately asked to decide and he chose to leave my husband, our youngest son who is his half brother, and me, to go and live with his dad and step mom. Talk about heartache all over again, not to mention high stress. We still share joint custody, but I just see him way less than before, probably a week a month on average. Now it seems like nothing is holding us back from moving. My youngest son really wants to live there, my oldest son wants nothing more than to spend his holidays there and perhaps attend university there, so we’ve decided to do it. Our plan is to do it in the next year to year and a half. My husband has started to slowly apply for jobs and we are starting to pair down our things. Now that we’ve decided, I’m mildly obsessed. I need a big change, and a new perspective. I also feel that I need some peace. I need to be with my family without all of the other people pulling me away. I feel really guilty because my mom is getting older and I know she is going to be really sad. But, on the other hand, my other brother who is still alive and my sister live in town and can help. I can visit a lot and bring her over to us in the summer. I am the most responsible in the family now that my brother is gone even though I am the youngest. I’m a bit tired of that. Is it wrong? Am I a horrible daughter? I just really, really want to go. I want to put us first.
Friday, October 19, 2012
Thursday, October 18, 2012
This morning my mother calls me and says, “Hey, can I drop by outside of your office and give you a bottle of my pee to drop off at the lab (I work in a building attached to the clinic that she frequents for her plethora of older age ailments)?” to which I reply, “Um, I guess. Will you put it in a bag or something?” She laughs heartily and says “of course!” Ten minutes later my phone rings, and my mom shouts in to her cell phone as she tends to do, “I’m outside!” I run down the flights of stairs and walk out to the sidewalk looking for my mother’s minivan. I find her and walk over, she rolls down her window and hands me a paper bag. “Is it in here?” I ask. “Yep, it’s all here.” She replies. “I feel like we’re making a drug deal.” I confess to her. “It looks like I’m delivering your lunch!” She says laughing. The thought of me holding a bag containing a container of urine and lunch at the same time makes me slightly queasy. I change the subject and ask “is the paperwork in the bag.” To which she answers yes. I walk away and as I’m walking I look back to see my mother waving enthusiastically and then she blows me a kiss. I’m 41, it’s weird. I walk into the clinic part of the building, up the stairs to the lab on the 2nd floor. Go to the window and deliver the goods. “Here is a urine sample from my mom. The paperwork is in there.” The woman looks down her nose over her glasses at me and says “what time did she urinate?” I say, “Uh, I’m not sure, can’t be too long ago.” She says sternly, “I need to record the time and need to write something down.” “Just put down 8:00… that sounds good” I say. She eyes me suspiciously and agrees to put down 8:00. It’s amazing the kinds of things you can accomplish before 9:00 a.m. on a Thursday.