This isn’t the first day without you, but it’s only been nine days. It feels like an eternity since the last morning I saw you. I stood at the airport in Warsaw, by the security line, watching you move farther and farther away. You waved your final goodbye, and when I could no longer see you, my heart broke one last time.
My heart has been broken before—more times than I can count. By friends, family, and even lovers. But this is different. This heartbreak is one I’ve never felt before. It’s the pain I’ve spent years trying to avoid. I made choices, I thought, to protect myself from this—the pain of being without you.
“A person often meets their destiny on the road they took to avoid it.” – Master Oogway or Jean de La Fontaine
And that’s exactly what happened. The path I chose to keep us all together ended up pulling us apart, sending you even farther away. Now, we’re 8,797 kilometers and an 8-hour time difference apart. Selfishly, I hope you miss me as much as I miss you. But deep down, I hope you don’t feel this pain. I’ve had to release my need to control the narrative I tell myself and place your comfort and happiness above my own.
Moving you all to Ukraine, even amid the war, was a selfish decision. It came from a place of fear and from an unhealed version of myself. I couldn’t fathom my life so far from you, so I convinced myself, your dad, and even you that it would be best for us.
But it wasn’t. It ended up tearing our family apart.
Still, not everything was bad—or at least, you told me it wasn’t. And I needed to believe that, so I did. I found you a school, even if it wasn’t perfect. You made amazing new friends. I enrolled you in activities you loved. I even bought you a horse. I thought that would be enough.
But it wasn’t. Just like my life in the U.S., no matter what I had or worked for, it never felt like enough. Eventually, I realized—and accepted—that it wasn’t enough for you either.
So, after one year and three months, I let go.
Today, it’s windy in the village. It snowed yesterday, and I know you would have loved it. It snowed where you are, too, and you sent me videos and pictures of all the fun you had in the snow. I couldn’t be happier for you, but at the same time, there’s a deep sadness I feel for myself.
As I listen to the crackle of burning wood and look out at the snowy mountain, watching the snowflakes dance in the air, I find a small comfort. It reminds me that you are safe, happy, and home. Sometimes, we wish we could stop time. But today, I’m grateful it keeps moving forward—because every passing day brings us closer to being together again.
Until I see you again…
XO,
Mom
Your Neuroverse 
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