Mummy...please don’t leave me...!!! Please mummy don’t go...!

I watched my 2-year-old son, held back by his nanny as his tears sent missiles directly to my heart. His face strewn with rivers of water, his voice strained because of how long he had cried, his body weakened by the sadness in his heart.

Mummy please, not again, don’t leave me, take me with you...! Without a word, I shut the door in his face and walked away.

***

Chapter 1: The early years

I was a young woman with a vision, purpose and would go to any length to achieve my goals. My character was molded by the family who surrounded me, while academic excellence was my constant goal. Whatever my family did, they excelled in. Being the youngest in the family, they expected from me nothing less, and so the pressure was on me. My mother would always make statements like:

“Natasha, my child, education is the key to any form of breakthrough in your life, so learn as much as you can, grab every opportunity that comes your way. Be a woman of excellence, you will never have to depend on anyone if you are educated. Keep studying.”

My home country, Zambia, located in the southern part of Africa, is home to over 18 million people who still largely struggle with poverty and low literacy. For decades, children have been told that the only path to a better life is education. The higher you go on the education ladder, the better off your family will be. With this understanding, my parents supported me to attend the best high school, which is an all-girls school governed by Catholic nuns, a school where the pass rate was excellent. Every Friday we recited in the girl’s serenity groups, the 7Bs, as we called them (Books Before Boys, Because Boys Bring Babies). My university experience was nothing short of excellence. I went to the best university in the country and my parents told me to keep pushing my abilities, for the sky was the limit.

“You need to make an impact in this life,” my father would say, “you have the power to change the world.”

I believed him, my life depended on the words my parents poured into my life every chance they got and my life was shaped. I would one day conquer the world. I would be respected and all I needed was to climb up to the highest point of the academic ladder, which I did.

Then one day, I met a man and all hell broke loose.

March, 13th 2014.

I sat on my bed reminiscing how he had done it. The tingling butterflies in my stomach danced around as his words echoed n my mind.

“I need your parents’ approval, I want nothing else but to make you my wife,” he said.

In my culture, this was equivalent to a proposal: he was asking me to marry him. My heart leaped with joy as I imagined spending the rest of my life with my best friend.

“Yes, bae. I will call dad and inform him that you are going over. When would you like to go?”

“As soon as possible...! What’s there to wait for? I want more than anything to make you mine...!” He said with his eyes fixed on mine and reading every facial expression I made.

Mwangala, now my fiancé, a man of his word, he knew what he wanted, how he wanted it and nothing could stop him. When he entered a room, he commanded everyone’s attention. Everyone depended on him, most people owed him something. He was the family philanthropist, but still distinctly humble. His silent, reflective composure allowed many to speak their minds and wait for him to digest their words. He was far beyond being just a man, as the words of Isa Ray, a Hollywood actress, rang through my mind, Mwangala was everyman and the man, always there, always present, loving and kind. His face, slender and gentle, his eyes pierced through your soul and revealed secrets that you didn’t even know existed. Now this man would be by my side...Forever...! With him beside me, we would take the world by storm. He was the cherry on top, a complete compliment to my character and entire being. We would stop at nothing to achieve our goals.

1st May, 2016

It was the most important day, our wedding day. The music, the food, the entire event marked with ground-breaking history, the first wedding to ever be held in my husband’s family. It was more than just an event, it was history in the making, a day to be commemorated, a point of reference, an opportunity for many to enjoy and experience. As per tradition, the cars honked their horns and people danced till their waists ached. But beyond it all, the chemistry that we felt for each other was more than a teacher could teach in class. The most important part of a Zambian wedding arrived and the room stood still, the music was lowered, his hands around my waist and his eyes fixed on mine. Nothing else mattered at this point, he was now my husband. Through the loudspeakers, we all heard you may kiss the bride!

Chapter 2

July, 12th, 2016

A cup in one hand and a strip in the other, we waited, watching the results spread out into 2 lines. So, I was pregnant! I would be a mother for the first time. As my culture prescribed, this child would be the symbol of our love, the real-life unification of the families, the ultimate gift to my husband, a physical symbolism of the continuity of the family heritage, legacy and name.

I called mum, immediately.

No sooner had she picked up than I said, “Mummy...! You are going to be a grandmother soon...!”

“Oh, my goodness, you are officially declaring me old...a grandmother!” She joked.

We laughed the call away as she showered me with blessings of good health and strength through this new phase. This would be their first grandchild. A new sense of pride for the family would begin.

August 20th, 2016

It was a cold and rainy morning, the sound of rain hitting the roof and pouring down through the gutters, like a symphony shushing me to sleep. I knew my husband had a trip that morning, but I had no intention of getting out of bed.

He looked at me, kissed my forehead, and said his goodbyes.

“See you on Sunday...take care of yourself and my little person,” he said just under his breath. I smiled and rolled over in my bed, gave him a gentle wave and went back to sleep.

I knew it would be a boring day, home alone and without electricity. Load shedding as we call it was a period when different zones in my town would have their power switch off to avoid strain on the national electrical grid. It would last between 1 hour to 12 hours. To be honest, I think sometimes it depended on how moody the operator felt that day.

Once the rain subdued, I took a brazier, matches, charcoal and a few dry sticks, lit the coals, slowly adding some pieces of paper to keep the fire burning. Eventually, I placed my water in a metallic basin and let it boil. I was in no mood to bath in cold water. After my shower, I went to check on my brazier, but found the heavens had poured out its blessings on my fire and it was soaking wet. In frustration, I picked up my car keys and went to the mall, bought my snacks, and sat all-day waiting for TV time.

Like a sharp cut, I felt my stomach hurt. I stood up, to get medication, and there, it came again, sharp pain in my abdomen.

Suddenly. Red. It was all red. I stood at the kitchen counter, as I watched the blood flow. The pain was excruciating. I slowly made my way to my phone and called Chipo, my sister.

“Hey sis, I need your help…!”

“What’s up, are you okay?” she panicked on the other end of the line. “I think I just lost the baby....” and the call went dead or maybe I did.

When I opened my eyes the next morning, I was lying in bed. Everyone was around me, watching me intently. I saw Mwangala pacing up and down and only turned when Chipo said, “She’s waking up.”

“Where am I?” I frowned as I enquired.

“The University Teaching Hospital. You passed out yesterday, we found you on the floor and brought you here. Mwangala will explain the rest.” Chipo replied while holding my IV hooked hand.

The University Teaching hospital was the largest hospital in the country and only the most critical of cases were referred there. For many, being there could only suggest how critical their health condition was. The doctors were excellent and highly trained which was usually a comforting reality for those lying in the beds, for they understood that they are in the best form of care. Now I was there, I noticed the tubes on my hands and fear overwhelmed me.

“My baby...! Is my baby okay?” I asked, panic and agitation ensued me as my mind brought back the memories of the previous night.

Mwangala quickly rushed to my bedside, held my hand, and said, “Hey, don’t think about that right now.”

“No bae, I need to know.” I tearfully asked

“Okay, okay...I will tell you, we hmm...” he said through watery eyes and clearing his throat “we...we lost the baby.”

22nd August, 2016

“All good,” the gynaecologist declared after his morning routine. “Does that mean I can go?” I questioned.

“Yes, everything is fine, your vitals are normal, your uterus is clean, give it 3 months and voila...you can have another baby.”

“Thank you, doctor, is there anything else I need to do?”

“No,” he replied as he took off his gloves and threw the gloves into the bin, “you are as good as new.”

But was I? I may have been physically fine, but I was emotionally dead, what would I tell my friends? Would they laugh at me? Should I not inform them? What about Mwangala? How was he taking this? He had shut down ever since the incident occurred. Did I let him down? Was it my fault? Was it the food I ate? Questions engulfed my mental faculties and no answers came.

Like a woman who had gone to the hospital for a minor injury, I walked out of that hospital. They allowed a completely broken woman out of the hospital, physically healed, but mentally dead. The health system had failed me and I didn’t have the voice to echo my words. To them, I was simply a statistic, after all, 1 in every 4 women would miscarry at least once in their life time. But this wasn’t the end. I would be back, I needed the knowledge, the capacity, the audacity to challenge systems that had long been established. Education was my only solution.

Now I was a woman with a purpose, vision and on a MISSION.

29th March, 2018

Finally, I was holding him in my arms, precious and kind, soft and pure. Even his cry made me smile. He was the epitome of my entire being, a replica of his father’s face. My son, Nathan, a name that meant; a gift from God. I celebrated his every achievement and milestone, his ability to roll over, teething, eating solid food, sitting, standing, everything was more than just a milestone for me.

“Hey Tasha,” I heard my sister, Chipo say over the phone. “Nathan can stand, check out this video.”

I watched the WhatsApp video from my office desk and my heart melted at the sight of my little man pulling himself up against the living room couch as he slowly raised his immaculate body to an upright stance. It was the most heart-warming video I had ever seen.

Like my ID, I moved with Nathan everywhere I went. He was my real-life guardian angel that helped me relax when things got rough, he was my pride and joy. The physical manifestation of my heart living outside my body. The sound of his laughter was enough to make me erase any frustration and smile back. He was the perfect little angel, sent straight from the heavenly storehouse. He was my second chance at motherhood and nothing else mattered.

One night, I carried him to bed after he fell asleep on the living room couch, I watched his perfect little face like a calm lake, peaceful and quiet. I stroked his face, covered his tiny body in his favourite blankie and made a promise “I will never ever leave you, for as long as I live, never...!”

But life as we know it, always reminds us to never say never.

Chapter 3 - changing goals

February, 12th 2020

Before me, was the opportunity of a lifetime, a chance to redirect my life, a chance to change the course of the family’s trajectory, an opportunity never to be seen again. The email arrived early in the morning; I had been waiting for it. My heart slowly increasing in pace.

“Open it, open it, open it...” like a broken record my mind kept on replaying. Even the mouse on my computer suddenly became a complicated device that I didn’t know whether to right click or left click to open a document. Finally, there it was, “CONGRATULATIONS...! We are pleased to congratulate you into our Master of Social Sciences in Health and Social Services Management (MHSM) program in the 2020-2021 Intake.” All the hard work had paid off. My son and I would be joining my husband in Hong Kong, who had travelled 2 years prior. We would leave the country for the first time, experience a new life, find an apartment somewhere off campus. The family would be together again.

I called my husband immediately.

“Hey bae, they picked me, Nathan and I will be joining you soon.”

“Congratulations my love,” he replied enthusiastically.

“I can’t wait to prepare our passports and visa applications,” I exclaimed.“Oh yeah, about that...” he began, in a somewhat somber tone.

“Is everything okay?” I enquired.

“Yeah...but I just realized that our baby can’t join us.”

“But why? We just can’t leave him; he is our responsibility,” I argued.

“I was looking around for accommodation and Hong Kong apartments are insanely expensive. It would be wise if he remained with mum and my sisters.”

“No, we can’t do that, it’s either we come together or I don’t come at all.”

“Hey, think about this, when will you ever get another opportunity to get a state of the art education. Remember your dreams, your vision, your mission. This is your life too, we will find him, it’s just 1 year and you will be back. Moreover, you leave him when you go on your work trips, it won’t be too unusual for him.”

“My trips are 2 weeks long utmost; we are talking about an entire year here.”

After 6 hours of going back and forth, tears mingled with frustration, I reluctantly said, “I will leave him. But this better be the last time I ever have to do this.”

Or would it?

12th October, 2020

Air ticket in hand, Covid test done, QR code downloaded, bags packed. My family gathered around me, prayed and waved goodbye. My mind centered on my 2-year-old little angel. Will he be okay? Will he still remember me when I get back? Will he be taken care of? I held him in my arms all morning, gave him every little snack I had, played with him till he got tired.

“I love you mummy,” he said in his baby voice. He gently walked into my arms and embraced me. My mind now going wild, “Can he sense that I am about to leave him? Did he understand when I told him that I will be gone for a long time?”

“I love you more, my son,” I replied.

His face with a slight frown looking directly at me, he raised his hand and wiped the tear mingled with eyeliner, that was slowly falling and leaving a straight line of sorrow across my face.

Something had changed. The passion and drive I had for academic excellence had been corrupted by a tiny 2-year-old boy. Suddenly my mind wondered if I really had to do this. But I was a woman with a vision and on a mission. My work would not be my own, but for all the women out there betrayed by their own systems. They needed a voice and I had been blessed to be part of those who voiced out on their behalf.

My mind snapped back to reality, I embraced him, just at the exact moment Chipo gently said, “Natasha, it’s time to go.”

The sight of the bags and people leaving, put Nathan in panic mode. He knew that the sight of a suitcase meant; mummy is leaving. He ran towards me, holding my leg, screaming and crying. My tears now freely flowing, my sister stood speechless as she watched the inevitable scene unfold before her eyes.

“Chipo, call the nanny, let her take him somewhere so that he doesn’t have to watch me leave,” I said

Soon his nanny came and beckoned him, but he knew the trick, he knew the drill and wouldn’t let go. She came over, picked him up while he yelled and kicked as she slowly walked away. Then I heard him say, “Mummy...please don’t leave me...!!! Please mummy don’t go...!”

I watched Nathan kick and scream, but held back by his nanny, constrained in her grip as his tears sent missiles directly to my heart. His face wet with rivers of water, his voice strained by how long he had cried, a body now weak by the sadness in his heart.

“Mummy please, don’t leave me, take me with you...!”

“Just go,” I heard my sister say, “even if you stand there, you can’t change anything now. He will be fine; I will be here for him. Remember the goal...focus on it.”

Without a word, I shut the door behind me and walked away.

“9 months to go...” I sighed to myself. The countdown began the moment I walked out that door.

Chapter 4: New Territories

31st December, 2020.

Quarantine was over, term one was over. I had been in Hong Kong for three months. The place was beautiful, and I had visited some breathtaking sceneries, the Victoria Peak, Lantau Ocean Park, Disneyland, even the smaller islands were different from my home, the culture, the work ethic, everything was amazing. The first time I was on the MTR, a site never seen before, my husband ushered me into the metro station, got an Octopus card for me, and guided me to the boarding area. I watched as people stood facing empty train tracks, queues were getting heavier. I had read books about how fast these trains were, seen movies and seen what they looked like on the inside. Now I was here, I was busy looking around, soaking in the experience, eagerly waiting to see and board this speed train that I knew would take even 50 years for my country to build one.

“Where is the train and how long do we have to wait?” I finally asked

My husband smiled at me, obviously amused at my level of excitement. “You do realize you have just been here for less than 5 minutes, right? Don’t worry, it’s coming, 3 minutes more.”

Did he just guess that, or did he look at something, was there a notice I couldn’t see, maybe it’s written in Cantonese, but my husband can’t read Cantonese? I quietly wondered as I looked around avoiding the spectacle of looking too amazed but still intrigued at what the developed world really looked like. 3 minutes later, I saw the high-speed train pull up, automatic doors swung open and people boarded, even the automated instructions sounded cool as the English version announced, “stand back from the train doors.”

We went to Cheung Chau Island, it was an epic trip, the gentle breeze blowing away the stress and pressure the term had come with. Walking to the cave, cycling through the narrow paths, hiking up to the temples, tasting Chinese food for the first time. My mind wandered away and imagined how much my son would have enjoyed this. I would have been busy chasing him through the narrow paths, nagging his curiosity to touch anything that looked dangerous, lifting him off pillars that he would have tried to climb, pushing him along on his baby bike that he would have wanted to ride but couldn’t. I know he would have forced me to buy a beach ball, they looked too colorful not to have him tempted.

The longer I stayed there, the more depressed I felt. So, I asked my husband to take me back to school.

7 more months to go.

***

These 3 months had been the hardest in my entire life. Every week, I watched as my little boy outright refuse to speak to neither me nor his father. Like daggers through our chests, we watched videos of him playing with his grandmother and his little cousins. We begged him to get to the phone and say hello and he simply said no. My thoughts moved from sad to depressed and for a moment hated myself for making the wrong choice. One evening, Chipo sent a video of Nathan and his cousin, her son, fighting to sleep on her lap. I watched as the little boys scrambled to sit on her lap as she held both of them on her living room couch. The video was meant to be funny and a light moment for me, but it broke me even further to see them fight for something as basic as a mother’s lap. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I made the call. “Hey sis, how are you?”

“I am great, have you seen the video?” Chipo asked through laughter.

“These boys keep me so entertained,” she continued. I forced myself to laugh and asked if she could put Nathan on the call. He reluctantly walked over and looked at his aunt’s screen.

“Who is that?” Aunt Chipo asked. He shrugged his shoulders and started walking away.

“No, come back, I will give you sweets if you tell me who that is,” Chipo enticed. After looking for a few more seconds he finally spoke, “That’s aunty.”

My heavy heart sunk; he had forgotten me. Just after 3 months, he didn’t know who I was. That night I went to sleep sobbing and fantasizing about finishing school and going back home. But my mother’s words came back to memory, Education is the key to any form of breakthrough in your life, learn as much as you can, grab every opportunity that comes your way. Be a woman of excellence, you will never have to depend on anyone if you are educated. So, keep studying.

With that I held my peace, I may have become a mother, but I was still a woman with a purpose and on a mission.

9th February, 2021.

5 months to go. The countdown continued, but the academic pressure was mounting. Our weekly calls back home became fortnight calls and now they had become calls that were only made when time allowed. My husband and I had sacrificed more than we could bare, time, money, family, and a little of ourselves. We knew making it to Hong Kong and finishing our programs meant the world to us. Thus, we equated our survival and achievement to the legendary story of Hernan Cortez. We had literally, burnt our ship at the shore when we got there and the only way to survive was to conquer the island and finish school.

As the Sunday ritual was, we made the call back home, we saw the familiar face as he smiled at us and immediately said, “Mummy and Daddy….!”

For a split second, the earth paused, just in case the axis it spun on, by any chance, made a noise and we didn’t hear the boy right. Suddenly Hong Kong’s bright lights shone brighter, I suddenly realized the room was actually cream white and not pure white. My heart was at peace, the boy knew who we were this whole time but decided to punish us for leaving him and faked not being able to remember us.

“Nathan, my baby, what did you say?” I heard the father ask, hyped at this point.

“Daddy…!”

I watched the 2 most important men in my life share a deep moment of joy, separated by distance, but arms stretched out for a tight embrace. The relief in the father’s eyes was so obvious, but it was the smile on him that sent joy down our spines.

This whole experience was worth it, soon we would be reunited and life would go back to normal. Or would it?

Chapter 5: Decision time

1st April, 2021

3 months to go.

My days in this beautiful, skyscraper-filled land would soon be over. I would soon be a master’s graduate. I could smell the aircraft at this point. My mind imagined the pride on my parent’s faces when they heard that I was back in the country; a masters’ graduate. My mother’s dream of going far in her own studies would be fulfilled in her daughter. My genius siblings would pat my shoulder and say as always, “This milestone is done, on to the next one.”

My daydream was cut short when I heard the squeaking sound of the door. My husband walked in, even with the mask still on, I could see the grin on his face.

“Hey bae, I just applied for the Doctor of Policy Studies program, you know the DPS…”

I looked at him, stunned. “Why?”

“What do you mean... why?”

“Yes, why, you are already doing your Ph.D., so why would you apply for another one?”

“Oh…I get it…that’s because this is not for me, it’s for you.”

“Uh...no, no no no, you can’t do that."

“Why can’t I?" he replied, clearly in shock.

“Because we need to get back home, we have a child, remember?"

“But I am finishing my program this year, I will take care of him while you finish your course.”

“No, bae, I can’t.”

“Don’t be quick to reject this, think about it, talk to some people about it, I am sure they will guide you.”

“If I am picked, when is school scheduled to commence?”

“August, I believe.”

“So, I don’t have a chance to go back home and see my family?”

“Well, maybe you can, but we both know we can’t afford a round trip and 35 days quarantine fees when you get back.”

“Why is the quarantine 35 days?”

“Uhm...14 days in Zambia and 21 days when you get back.”

“Oh yes...eish...that’s more than a month of quarantine.”

“Back to the main issue, will you do it?”

“I will have to think about it, I can’t say much right now.”

“That’s my girl, email the program office and get more information.”

“Okay, I will do that.”

I opened my laptop and emailed the program office that afternoon and booked an appointment with one of the lecturers for the following afternoon.

The next morning, I slipped on my usual blue jeans, a black polo neck body top, a warm jacket, and some black flat shoes. At 1:45 pm, I wore my mask, left my room, walked to the Lingnan gate, scanned my ID and the gate swung open. I walked to the guard, presented my ID, checked my temperature, sanitized my hands, and walked on. I walked passed the amenities building and could hear the splashing water as people swam in the school’s swimming pool, passed the skylight, to the Graduate Studies office. I asked the ladies I found at the office how to get to Prof. Leung’s office. She led me to the elevator up to the 3rd floor and his office was on the far left. I gently knocked and I could hear the Chinese thick accent gently echo a “come in.”

He looked like a man in his early sixties, a slight balding slowly spreading over his head, though covered in a mask, I could see that he was smiling underneath it as he looked up at me. There were books and documents around his desk, his laptop open and his desk top on, clearly, he was using both devices.

“Hello, professor, my name is Natasha, I was referred to you for any questions about the DPS Program.”

“Oh…yes, yes…I remember, I was expecting you, please take a seat, how can I help you?”

“Thank you,” I replied, while walking to the seat right opposite his desk.

“I just wanted to find out a few things about the program, how long it is, any chances of scholarship, the structure of the program, and if there is any chance of doing it online?”

“Well, it’s a 3-year taught Ph.D. program, very informative, I would recommend it for anyone, you will have the opportunity to learn and experience a structured system of learning with highly efficient guidance along the way.”

“Any scholarship for it?” I asked.

“Yes, you can apply for a scholarship, there is some reserved for international students, but it’s highly competitive as you can imagine.”

“Any possibility of doing it online?”

“Online...? Why do you want an online program when you are already here?”

“Well, you see, I have a little boy back home and an online program would enable me to both be a mother and student at the same time.”

“Hmm...I see...but I don’t think that’s really an option right now.”

“But why, professor?”

“Well, those admitted to the program, we make every effort for them to come to Hong Kong to have a fully effective education program, these online programs have mainly been a result of the Covid-19 situation, otherwise, we wouldn’t really have this hybrid model of learning but rather have the face to face.”

“I understand, professor,” I responded, through a sigh.

“Just think about it, it will be worth it in the long run.”

“Thank you so much, professor, for your time, I am very grateful.”

“We hope to see you in our program this coming academic year.”

“I will think about it, thank you once again.”

I walked out of the office much more torn than I went in. I imagined the impact I would make with this Ph.D. The example I would set for the young girls back in my home country. The influence I would possess in national and community policymaking. My voice would carry a respected title. They would call me Dr. Natasha. My mind loved the ring that had. I unconsciously found myself smiling through my mask as I walked to the library to prepare for my class that evening. After class, I called Chipo to share this information.

“Hey, stranger...!” I heard her mock.

“Hey, caretaker...!” I snapped back and we both laughed out loud. Nathan has been talking about you all day, I am glad you called.”

“Where is he?”

“Nathan...! Nathan..!” she yelled to the little boy who was in the other room.

“Yes mummy…coming,” he replied. He had become so acquainted with his aunt that he called her mummy as well.

Soon he was in the room with his cousin, they were in their super hyper mode, showing off the trucks their grandmother had bought them that afternoon.

“Mummy look...look at my truck.”

“That’s an awesome truck, who bought it for you?” I eagerly enquired.

“Mummy here bought it for me, so what will you bring for me when you come back?”

“What do you want me to bring for you?”

“An apple and chocolate.”

“Wow, no truck?”

“Yes, a big truck, so that I can be putting you and daddy and grandma and mummy Chipo in it.”

“That’s my big boy.”

“Okay, bye and goodnight, I have gone back to eat, I love you mummy, see you soon.”

As quickly as the boys had arrived, they left. My sister and I remained laughing and amazed by how much a toy could make a kid that excited. But my sister’s psychic nature turned back to me and asked, “By the way, you looked a little absent-minded earlier, anything on your mind?”

“Nothing...nothing. Am okay,” I lied.

“You know I know you like the palm of my hand right, I know when something is on your mind.”

Well, Mwangala applied for Ph.D. on my behalf.”

“Wait...what?”

“Yeah...that was my reaction too.”

“And what did you say…does that mean you won’t be coming back home or you will do it online, coz remember, you have a kid to take care of?”

“Apparently, I have no online option.”

“Hey, I love you and all, but you need to take care of your kid, I am more than willing to take care of him for a year, but 3 years or it is 4 years?”

“3 years…well 4 years if you include this one that you are already helping us out with.”

“Hmm…it’s a tough one.”

“I know, any advice?”

“I know you, and I understand you, I know your goal, vision, and mission agenda, but you are a mum now, things can’t always be as easy when you have the responsibility of another life. I know his dad will be here to take care of him, but men are usually busy, he needs to find resources to take care of the family, Nathan will still end up being here with me most of the time.”

“Yeah, you are right.”

“At the end of the day, you have to make a choice and a grave sacrifice will have to be made, either you miss out on your son’s 4th, 5th and 6th birthdays, his first day of school, and other early life milestones or you forfeit that Ph.D. opportunity for now and your dreams of being as influential as you see yourself, the choice is yours.”

By the time the call was over, my heart was more conflicted than ever before. I walked to my husband’s office and printed something and stuck it beside my bed. It read:

Academic Career Motherhood

For 3 days I woke up, prayed, and stared at this. I weighed my options, I sought counsel but every time, their words always ended with, “ultimately, it’s your choice to make.” Indeed, it was, and I knew what I wanted. I had made up my mind. All my life’s decisions culminated at this moment, a moment of truth. I walked to my drawer, picked up the marker, and made my tick. The burden was over, my mind completely refreshed, I had never been happier. I knew I had made the best choice of my life and there was no going back.

The End.