The tyranny of distance

This was supposed to be an upbeat, or maybe even offbeat, post about 08-08-08, one of those weird annual convergences that happen four more years this century. I like those kinds of convergences. I guess I’m just funny like that.

But my plans, and mood, were changed when I read an email from my brother telling me that last night my sister and brother-in-law were in a car accident. They were turning on a green arrow when someone ran a red light and hit them broadside. My sister had some broken ribs and internal bleeding, for which they’re keeping her in the hospital for a few days. My brother-in-law was badly shaken, as you’d expect, but otherwise pretty much okay.

Fortunately for them, a cop from another town happened to be at the intersection and witnessed it, and that it wasn’t their fault. But it also meant there was someone there who knew what to do and how to summon the emergency services. Who says there’s never a cop around when you need one?

I rang my sister and spoke with her for a little. She was groggy from the painkillers, of course, but in good spirits. But I felt worse after speaking with her.

I was keenly aware at that moment that I’m more than 13,000 kilometres away (around 8200 US miles). I can’t get there without spending several days and several thousand dollars. I know that there’s no real reason why I have to be there, but if I lived there, of course I’d go see her. By any practical measure, doing so from this far away is impossible.

Anyone who ends up living far away from their original home is inevitably faced with situations like this, as my buddy Dawn recently was. These situations tend to become an exercise in evaluation—trying to determine if the situation is “bad enough” (whatever that means) to justify the expense and difficulty of a trip. The greater the distance, the more that money comes into that evaluation; it’d be dishonest to say it doesn’t.

I suppose for me, and probably other expats, the fact that we have to go through such evaluations is the hardest part. It creates frustration on top of whatever other emotions are going on. I hate it.

Obviously expats know—or ought to—that this kind of situation will happen and it pays to have at least a vague idea of how they’ll handle it (I keep current passports and an available balance on my credit card). But having a plan doesn’t make it any easier when situations arise.

Without a doubt, this tyranny of distance is the worst part about being an expat, even though it’s often an integral part of the experience. It’s the one thing that modern technology can’t yet completely overcome.

Oh and someone tell me why, exactly, Chinese think “8” is such a lucky number…

Update 12 August: My sister's on the mend, and is due home soon. They've had a lot of offers of help, especially from their church. This makes me feel better about not being able to be there myself to help out. Special thanks to everyone who left kind words here, privately or through Twitter. I appreciate your support and kindness.