Friday, May 20, 2016


Last night was the first time where I just didn't have the strength to explain my situation to yet a new person and simplified things, just telling the newly befriended acquaintance that my daughter went to that particular school in her neighborhood. It stung like crazy when she happily suggested that we might bump into each other in the morning because she always walked her dog down Bedford Street around the time of the school run. It stung because there is no more school run. There is no more chit-chatting to the other parents, getting approached for volunteer activities and then me running off to work, stopping by the bakery for a warm croissant on the way, running back in the afternoon to pick up and take Zoe to dance class. Exactly a week ago I said goodbye to Zoe in the lobby of a hotel, both of us crying and me hurrying out because I just couldn't do another hug.

Most women, mothers or not, even sometimes men, tend to go quiet when I talk about my situation. They first have this "what a great life you have, a great job, a great situation", until it dawn upon them what I have had to give up. And that if I want the career, the success, which is right in front of me now, offering to make up for lost years, I have to give up spending my everyday life with my daughter, the person who means the most to me in this world. And no matter what, I'll spend countless hours (and money) on airplanes to see her for short moments.

"Mommy, I don't understand why it is, but I cry more when I'm with Daddy than when I'm with you. I just get upset a lot", Zoe told me as we walked to school the last day. She had just spent a long weekend with her dad, on holiday. I said I was sorry but didn't know what else to say. To me it is obvious. I don't really have a choice, I know what to do and maybe in another ten years I'll get another chance.

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