Living Away From Family During Holidays
This morning, we woke up like any other morning. I snoozed my 5:50 alarm, which then woke me ten minutes later. Snuck out for a jog that was more like a fast walk to listen to my new obsession, a true crime podcast. Stepping in the shower, I heard a little knock on the door, and a sweet “good morning.” The rush of breakfast, packed lunches, and getting dressed ensued before hurrying to the car to get everyone to school.
“Hey boys. I have something to tell you. I’m thankful for you. Especially today, because it’s Thanksgiving.”
“What’s that?” they asked. Because shockingly to some Americans, Thanksgiving isn’t celebrated anywhere else except in America. So the boys wouldn’t know. It isn’t anticipated. They don’t get off school. We don’t decorate for it. There isn’t a parade or a football (American football) game on. It’s not “thing.”
Today was a day like any other.
And most years, I don’t think twice about it. But this year, it’s different.
I feel far away from home.
Perhaps normally there is distraction to keep me busy. This year, there aren’t kids at home to take care of – and there never will be again because they will only keep getting older. And work is very slow so not much to do. So maybe it’s that – I should have planned more today.
Or maybe it’s that a lot has gone on with my family in America this year that I haven’t been around for.
When you live very far away from family, you miss illnesses, deaths, celebrations, holidays, and birthdays.
You miss the very things that make relationships. The highs and the lows. And by bypassing these pivotal moments of grief and joy, your distance to the people once such a pivotal part of life grows as you fall out of knowledge of who they really are.
They become someone you only hear about third party, through other people or social media.
I’ve often heard people saying that while friends come and go, family is forever. For a long time, I shoved that off.
We were part of a community for years that we said felt just like family. But then life happened, and they no longer were.
But I know for certain, if I called my cousins, my mom, my dad, my sister, my uncle, my aunties – time would be no barrier. They truly will always be my family (as a caveat, I know everyone doesn’t have the brilliant family I have, and this might not ring true for you).
They will always be my family, but my understanding of who they really are and what they’ve been through is somewhat foreign to me – literally, because I am living in a foreign country. I don’t really know them, and they don’t really know me. And yet, they are always family.
We still have my husband’s lovely family here, but not mine. Not the people I grew up with. The people who raised me, who formed me.
And perhaps the main reason I’m feeling this gap, this longing, this nostalgia, this year, is because I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on how I feel very unattached to a community. I have absolutely stellar best friends. So many lovely friends. But even after nearly thirteen years (that is so long), I can say I feel like an outsider here. Like I don’t quite belong. It’s not the fault of anyone, only the byproduct of living in a place where people are surrounded by their families all the time. Constantly surrounded by what you wish you had.
And it’s in those moments, I would love to rewind to my grandparents’ houses at Christmas. Or to my dad’s while he fries a whole turkey on Thanksgiving. Or to my mom’s for a slow, Saturday morning with candles and music. To be fully accepted and loved, not just as good friend, but as a granddaughter, a daughter, a niece. To have no shame, no pretence, no proving. Just to be.
It may seem like I’m making a case for never leaving your family. But I’m not. Because in leaving America, I gained my very best friend and three precious boys. I learned there is more to the world than just America, a hard feat to achieve while actually living in America. I had to learn how to be independent, both as an individual and as a family. I created new traditions, new routines, new ways of living, new ways of thinking. All which very possibly might not have developed had I stayed home forever.
There are no regrets about leaving home, but there is grief about not being able to easily see the people who love me most. Who I love most.
When this grief comes, I don’t ignore it. I usually have a little cry. But then I have to box it up, not in an unhealthy way, at least I don’t think so. Because I have so much to be thankful for, wrapping back around to today being Thanksgiving.
If I focus on what I don’t have, I miss all I do have, which is a never-ending list of goodness.