A Mother’s Heart

I spent the last month in Sweden, not on vacation, but with my husband, who has taken a position back in his home country. I call this phase the bridge, the space between late career and retirement. This is ours to cross. Our new reality is made of these on-again, off-again stretches of separation. My heart now lives in two countries, split between the people I love most.

My husband is in Sweden, and our sons are in the United States. Our youngest is in college. The boys were supportive; after all, they’ve spent every summer in Sweden since they were born. To them, this change simply meant “being with Dad in our second home.”

At first, everything was fine. The stress melted away. I felt healthier, physically, mentally, and spiritually. But then my phone rang in the middle of the night. Chaos exploded through the quiet, and stress wormed its way right back into my chest. After things settled, I managed three days of rest before the shrill of the phone jolted me awake again. A different son this time, and a situation far more frightening and serious.

I wanted to swim across the Atlantic Ocean.

For ten days, I vacillated between being supportive from afar and booking a ticket home. Because a mother’s heart never shuts down.

I overthink, overanalyze, and obsess over the things I can’t control. My emotions go into overdrive, and I don’t know how to switch them off. My sons remind me they have each other, and I am grateful for that. Friends have supported me, and I’m grateful for them too. But all anyone can do is listen. I’m the one who answers the middle-of-the-night phone calls, who jumps out of bed to listen or advise.

It’s overwhelming because my love bursts out of my chest. I make myself sick with worry. My husband was calm throughout the entire two-week ordeal, which made me frustrated and, honestly, angry. I interpreted his steadiness as indifference. It seeped into my soul, leaving me sleepless and stretched thin. But this is how I’m wired.

And now, everything is okay again. The boys are silent…as they usually are. No news is good news.

Tomorrow, I head back to the States, and small cracks are forming in my heart once more. This time it’s the quiet ache of leaving my spouse behind.

Because a woman’s heart loves in every direction, and breaks in every direction too.