When There is No Right Answer
It has been a while....... Actually, that is probably a bit of an understatement.
When I last wrote here, Luke had just left for Norway. I had every intention of continuing to share what happened next. His new job, his adventures, what life looked like with him on one side of the world and the rest of us on the other.
But I didn’t.
The truth is, I went quiet because it has been hard. Really hard.
It has been emotional and lonely and exhausting and stressful and, at times, completely overwhelming. There have been plenty of wonderful moments in amongst it all, and we are still incredibly proud of Luke and everything he is doing, but I don't think any of us fully understood what being apart would actually feel like until we were living it.
We knew we would miss him. We didn't realise quite how much.
I think one of the biggest things these past few months have shown me is just how much of a partnership Luke and I really have. After all these years together, our lives are so intertwined that I probably didn't even notice all the little ways we carry things together until suddenly we couldn't.
The parenting. The decisions. The house. The dogs. The emotional load. The person you look at across the room when one of the kids says something ridiculous. The person you debrief with at the end of the day. The person who knows when you're not okay without you having to say it.
I miss my husband and the boys miss their Dad.
Perhaps strangely, amongst all that missing, there has also been something really beautiful. Being apart has made all four of us realise just how much we love our little family and how much we want to be together.
Which would make the next decision really easy. Except, of course, it doesn't.
Because we have found ourselves in what feels like the ultimate lose-lose situation. We have one child who desperately wants to go to Norway and one who desperately doesn't. And when you are their Mum, how on earth do you choose between those two things?
There have been so many conversations. So many tears. So many different possibilities considered and reconsidered. I have changed my mind more times than I can count, because there is no decision here that doesn't hurt someone.
For Ethan, moving to Norway now would mean leaving behind his life at exactly the point where that life matters enormously. His friends, his family, school and everything he has built here. He doesn't want to go.
For Nate, having his Dad on the other side of the world has been far harder than any of us anticipated. The impact on him has been significant. He hasn't been sleeping well. He frequently complains of feeling sick and at times, he has been sad and withdrawn in a way that has been heartbreaking to watch. Our normally happy, chatty little boy hasn't quite been himself.
And as his Mum, that changes things.
At the same time, the thought of leaving Ethan here is almost impossible for me to comprehend. Every instinct I have as his Mum tells me that my children are supposed to be with me. That I am supposed to be there for the ordinary things as much as the big things. That our home is wherever the four of us are together. But life, apparently, does not always give you tidy choices.
Sometimes you have to choose between two things that both hurt. And so, after months of trying to work out what the "right" thing to do is, I think I've finally accepted that there isn't one. There is just the best decision we can make for our family with the information we have right now.
So, we have made it. Nate and I are moving to Norway.
Even writing those words feels enormous.
Ethan is staying here.
That sentence feels even bigger.
I know there will be people who struggle to understand how I could possibly move to another country while one of my children stays behind. Believe me, there is nothing anyone could ask me about that decision that I haven't already asked myself at 2am. But I also know Ethan.
I know the life he has here. I know the strong, independent, and capable young man he is becoming. I know the people who love him. I know that he isn't being left alone. He has family surrounding him, including people who would move mountains for him. It really does take a village to raise a child, and we are incredibly lucky to have one.
He will be loved. He will be supported. He will have a home. And he will always, always have us.
It won't look like the version of family life I imagined. There will be flights and FaceTimes and countdowns and probably a ridiculous number of messages. There will be moments I miss that I desperately wish I hadn't. There will undoubtedly be days when I question everything.
But perhaps one of the hardest parts of parenting is accepting that loving your children doesn't always mean making the same decision for each of them. Sometimes loving them means seeing what they need, even when those needs pull you in completely opposite directions.
So this is where we are.
Our little family is about to look very different. We are excited. We are terrified. We are sad. We are hopeful. Some days I am all four before breakfast.
But underneath all of that, I feel incredibly certain of one thing.
This time apart has reminded us that home isn't really Queensland or Norway.
It is us.
And even though, for a while at least, our family will stretch across two continents, we are going to find our way through this. Together.
Med kjærlighet og vennlighet (with love and kindness),
Alicia
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