Since our wedding day, my husband, Tom, has taken his family to an island for a vacation every year. For twelve years now, every year without fail, he has spent this moment with them – without me.
I always stay behind, while they soak up the sun and make memories that I will never be able to share with them.
“Why don’t you just cancel this vacation and we can all go together? The kids would love it,” I asked him, mechanically tossing the salad in front of me. My thoughts were drifting away, to all the moments I have missed so far.
“Why would I do that?” he replied abruptly, his brow furrowed. “The children are young and it would be very chaotic. When they are older, we can talk about it, but now is not the time.”
“And what about me?” I asked him, my voice low, but filled with a sadness that I could hardly contain.
“Have you ever thought about what it is like for me? And are you sure your mother doesn’t mind me always being away?” His answer never came, and for a moment I felt as if the whole world had stopped.
