The other day, I saw my neighbours arriving home from work at the same time.
I was in the kitchen, cradling Ayesha on one hand while preparing the kids' dinner with the other.
And as I watched (or more like stalked) them, I started feeling... for lack of better word..., lonely.
My days and nights (apart from those 10 hours at work) are normally filled with all these "single-handed" activities. So though there are technically 3 people in the house, there's actually very little communication going on. Adult conversations are confined to our daily video calls. And most conversations revolve around what's showing on YouTube and who did what in school. And on the bad days, the house is like an army camp -- no one (but me) gets to say anything. But hey Mama's got to do what she needs to do (right?).
So, I guess whatever it is that I felt yesterday evening has been a long time coming.
People tell me that I'm lucky because I still get to see my husband at least 2 weeks once, and that I should appreciate his efforts of wanting to be with us, whenever he can.
It goes without saying that I'm the luckiest woman alive to have him as mine, and better still, to have him home to be with his kids.
But sometimes, I think people (inadvertently) forget... that those left behind do have a set (or maybe many sets) of challenges of their own and most times, the struggle is real... so real --
I feel that being left behind hurts just as much as being the one leaving. I know that it shouldn't be a battle about who's hurting more because who on earth would want that kind of competition and frankly, we're both aware of each others' situation...
It's just that sometimes... I struggle --
And I question the decisions we've made.
And doubt the love we have.
And I ponder on the daily if there is anything that I can do to make myself feel better.