You’d think at this age, I’d be completely independent, never needing the care my parents provided to me as a child. Most of the time, I don’t. I miss them, but I don’t think of them every day anymore. When I see their photos, I smile. I text my siblings when I think of something they’d laugh at.

When I don’t feel well, I want my mom. She’s not always the most maternal, but she cares.

I called her to check in and see how she’s doing and I started to cry. I try to always present the best possible face now that I am far away. There’s no point in making our occasional phone calls sad or maddening. As I’ve mentioned here before, I’m good at keeping it all together. I gloss over the negative, preferring to let her talk and vent.

Some days though, I feel a little less balanced, emotionally. Physical symptoms lead to a loosening of control.

I wish I could see them more often, I wish I had a way to have them all visit here. I wish I could learn to physically be in two places, the way my heart has figured it out.