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Until I come back home
I was watching the credits roll up on the screen the other night. I wiped my wet nose. I thought I’d better call my Mum tomorrow.
I was thinking about the boys and how we cycle through life for the majority, without our parents.
I was reminiscing taking the boys out of the bath when they were babies, how I used to love pulling their little toes and covering them in powder before getting them ready for bed – not that they ever slept.
We grow up and move away and some of us have children of our own, others get busy jobs, some of us have both. Do we in western cultures disband from the family at the end of our teenage years – sometimes not to return for the next twenty years.
Sure we call, we write, we visit – but do we ever return home?
I was quiet after the movie, it made me think too much about the boys. I guess it’s slightly easier for me living away from them as I do. But I thought of their mother and how she will be vastly affected when they grow up and move from home.
My parents can’t pick me up and snuggle me into their necks. I’d find it weird if they came up and sniffed the top of my head and nuzzled their noses into my hair to kiss me. I wouldn’t walk down the shops holding their hands.
I picked up Beau the other day and he was strained under the pressure of us both. I think my carry time is up with him – not to be made redundant I find ways to connect to him. Much to my delight I was walking solo the other day and he wandered over and took my hand. I walked quietly basking in his little hand.
Being a parent, I should know how much my parents love me, but I also now know how much it hurts knowing it’s not forever.
It’s the greatest love you can have, followed so quickly by the greatest pain you can experience.
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