The present You missed for the future

I hardly ever look at the photo albums on my phone anymore because they make me cry. Yet sometimes, they appear unexpectedly, bringing back memories of my wonderful partner and our children.

Today, I finished making my jollof rice. I know how much they would have enjoyed it if we were together. But once again, I ate alone—not because I wanted to, but because I was hungry, while my heart was somewhere else, with them.

Nothing compares to the pain of being close to the people you love and yet being so far away from them—unable to reach them because of circumstances beyond your control.

I have always loved children, and I grew up in a family where love, togetherness, and parental presence mattered deeply, even when discipline was part of that love. So, when I made the decision to leave my family in the hope of giving them a better future, I knew I would miss them. What I didn’t fully understand was the cost of that distance.

I never really thought about what the separation would mean for my family—not just for me—until I found myself living it.

The first few months were difficult for me. But sometimes I wonder if they were even harder for my family.

If I could have changed my mind, perhaps I would have. But at the time, circumstances didn’t give me much of a choice.

For nine months, no one has jumped onto my bed to wake me up or disturb my sleep.

For someone without children, that might sound like a blessing.

For a father, it can be heartbreaking.

I haven’t been taking the children to the park. I haven’t been sitting with them during our little learning sessions. I haven’t been there for the ordinary moments that once seemed so insignificant—moments I now realise were actually some of the most valuable parts of fatherhood.

This isn’t my first experience of being a distant father. But this time, something feels different.

After spending so much time together and building a bond stronger than I ever imagined, I have come to realise that the consequences of being a distant father can sometimes outweigh the purpose behind it.

Yes, I want to provide a better future for my family.

But what happens when, in trying to give your children a better future, you lose the present?

The years they are young cannot be repeated.

The birthdays cannot be replayed.

The spontaneous hugs cannot be stored for later.

The little questions, the laughter, the games, the bedtime conversations—all of those moments disappear into the past, whether we are there to witness them or not.

And that is the part nobody talks about when they say, “I’m doing it for my family.”

Sometimes the sacrifice isn’t just financial.

Sometimes, you are the sacrifice.

Still, the circumstances that pushed us into this decision should motivate us to keep fighting for a better future for our children. Providing for them matters. Giving them opportunities matters.

But I have learned that fatherhood is not only about the success our children eventually achieve.

It is also about having the privilege of witnessing them become who they are.

If I could go back in time, I would still want a better future for my family. But I would think much more carefully about the price I was willing to pay for it.

I would treasure our time together more deliberately. I would look for every possible way to improve our circumstances without sacrificing more of the moments that can never be recovered.

Because one day, the money may be earned.

The house may be bought.

The career may succeed.

But the childhood you missed will remain in the past.

So, whatever your circumstances are, before you choose a path that takes you away from your family, think about it—not once, not twice, but a thousand times.

Because sometimes, the greatest cost of providing a better future is missing the present.