Did you eat?

Both of our kids have gone abroad. Since they were born, have I ever had such free time to myself? It’ll probably be over a year and a half before we see them again. My husband and I decided to use our kids’ old phones—he took our older child’s, and I took the younger one’s. 

One day, the phone rang. My older child’s name popped up on the screen. My heart dropped—Did something happen? Panicking, I answered,

“Dain?”

But then my husband’s voice came through,

“What are you doing?”

Realizing it was just him using the phone, I sighed, disappointed.

“Why’d you call for no reason and startle me?”

He laughed.

“Didn’t you say you were enjoying all the peace and quiet? Why? Miss them already? It hasn’t even been that long.”

Dinner used to be an elaborate mix of Korean and American dishes. Now, it’s just me and my husband sharing a simple meal. After we clean up, I stretch out on the bed and think, Ah… this peaceful life has finally come to me. But then I hear footsteps coming up from downstairs. Could one of the kids be home? I sit up, ready to say,
“Did you eat yet?”
Only to remember—they’re far away now.

I hear the front door open.
“Mom~!”
I almost reply,
“Yes? Did you eat?”
But again—I snap out of it. It was all in my head.

I check the computer constantly, hoping for an email from one of the kids. But my inbox is filled only with spam. Finally, a message from my younger child arrives:
“I am fine. Not sick. I eat a lot. Don’t worry.”
That was it. Disappointed, I read the short message over and over again. Maybe there’s more hidden somewhere? I comb through the whole email like I’m searching for something precious—but there’s nothing more.

I feel empty. Sad. How could my child not know that I’m waiting for more than just “I eat a lot”?
It’s not like they’re slow at typing. They type fast—too fast even. Just one more minute, one more sentence would’ve made all the difference.

But maybe they’re just busy. Adjusting to a new environment must be overwhelming.
Surely, the next email will be longer. But days pass—and nothing. I start checking the chat app, logging in and out, hoping to catch them online. Eventually, I get lucky. They’re online! I quickly start typing all the questions I’ve been wanting to ask. But their replies are short. They seem distracted, maybe chatting with friends at the same time. I give up and say, “Goodnight.” And sign off.

Unable to sleep, I check the computer again. Finally, there’s an email from my older child.
Excited, I open it. But it reads almost identically to the one from the younger:

“I’m eating well and doing fine.”

Again, disappointment. Maybe they think “eating well” is all I ever want to know. After all, how many times have I asked,

"Did you eat?”

over the years? They must believe that hearing about food is enough to comfort me. And I suppose, in a way, it used to be.

But now, I find myself endlessly checking the computer, hoping for more than just “I ate.”
My husband watches me, shaking his head in disbelief.