Coming Home

March 13th, 2018

     Something I've only told a few (until now) is that I did not want to come back.  I mean I kept it to myself for a while, and even from my Husband for a few weeks.  I wasn't sure how to explain it, how
people would respond or even what it meant.  I still don't.

    Now of course I was ready to see my Husband and my children, and yes I love my family and

friends, but if the opportunity was available I would have flown my husband and chlidren to me and never returned.  Ok, maybe not never, but certainly not then.

  At first thought I'm sure most of you are thinking "oh, yeah, I bet it was so hard leaving Andriy there" and while it was,  the crazy thing, it had NOTHING to do with Andriy, and still doesn't.  Now granted yes, If I happened to be in his country for an extended length of time I am sure that I would try to visit him.  Yet, me not wanting to return home was not because I wanted to stay with him.  While there what caught me off guard was how cared for he was, and the words "I cannot take him from her (grandma)" are words that I shared with a dear host/adoptive mom while I was there!  He was loved and so adored, and despite his teenage attitude the feelings are mutual toward his grandmother as well.  This sense of not wanting to come back home was not a motherly instinct to be with her child, it was far more and seemingly complicated to explain, hence me not telling many people and one I'll ease my way into.  Hopefully.

    I know how crazy it sounds, and I KNOW it doesnt' make sense, but for whatever reason returning home felt scarier than staying in a foreign country.  The person I left as was not the person that would be returning, yet I had to ride home the day I returned doing my best to be the wife, mother, friend and person I was when I left.

   One year in I'm doing a terrible job at being "here" because my heart was broken for the people there.  While my smile tells the story of joy my heart would tell a very different story.