Letter to my son

Dearest one

Summers are for family time and we have had so many good times together. Remember Anna Bay at Port Stephens? How we would spend hours exploring the rock pools, climbing the cliffs to where the sea pounded against the rock face and sent plumes of spray into the air. You always went so close, so near to the danger spot to experience the full force of the waves. I loved how we would eat an early dinner then pull out the card games, Pictionary, blockus, the ‘I know’ game … Or we would sit on the cliff face and watch the whales migrating up the coast, or back down as they followed seasonally the Great Eastern Australian Current – the exhilaration of watching them breach and who would be first to see them.

And remember when we would go further up the NSW coast to Diamond Beach, and Blueys Beach, and once to the NT Daintree Forest, eating green ants and bush tucker, holidaying with other families, swimming all day, reading, walking, 4WD exploring, fishing, visiting nature parks. Then there was our adventure in the Centre, driving through the outback and camping at remote sites, cooking over open fires, walking through ancient meteorite craters, sleeping on the desert floor in our swags too terrified to venture out to pee for fear of snakes and scorpions…

I will miss you these summer holidays. Your brothers will miss you.

I’m sad that you won’t be with us for our adventures back in our adopted homeland. You’ve told me you don’t want to come, but now, the reality is setting in and it is really painful to hear you starting to realize what in actual fact is going to happen. I asked you what your ideal scenario would be and you are adamant that you want me and your brothers to stay here so that you can have your holiday here with your friends. But that isn’t going to happen.

Of course, if things were different, ‘normal’ perhaps, even if you didn’t want to come, there wouldn’t be any choice in it. You’d just have to. At your age, neither child nor adult, it’s hard to find your place. Regardless, you should be with us. But you and I both know that you will refuse to get in the car, and there can’t be a huge fight leaving home, or at the airport. It’s a shame that you won’t converse about this. I’ve tried so many times over the last month in particular.

I know I said I didn’t want you to come with me if you were going to walk out on us when on holiday and end up goodness only knows where in a city that never sleeps. You couldn’t, or wouldn’t tell me that you would agree on what freedoms or otherwise you would have. I also said how I did not want to take you on holiday, and have it ruined for your brothers and myself with the stress of not knowing where you were if you behaved as you have here. We all need a break from that, and you probably do too.

I don’t think you will get the holiday you want. Someone has to be responsible for you, and so far you have refused to go to your aunt, uncle and cousins on the farm, to M and G here, to your grandmother, to family friends, all of whom would be happy to have you. All of whom are united in their support of us taking the opportunity to go on this holiday.

So your father has agreed to pick you up. I know you said you’d refuse to go with him too. But this is how things have transpired. You refuse to come with me, and you refuse to go with anyone else. Let your father take responsibility for you. Talk to him, ask to go with your friends, but expect that there will be expectations in return: it is actually ok to let your parents know where you are going and agree a time to return. It will work out. If you make it.

It has been a long two months of hoping and trying to find a way through to you, that a holiday was worthy of working towards, of saving for, of enjoying after studying hard… but to no avail.

I will worry about you. I will only be a phone call away. I will text you every day. If you need somewhere to go, or for help or support, I’ve given you a list of those who love you who will come and get you any time of the day or night.

I will miss you. But there will be other holidays, and maybe you will come with us next time. It may seem cruel to you, but as much as you are my priority, I must also take care of myself. I know you will be fine, you are strong, capable and you do know what you need to do to be safe and well. Remember to listen to that voice inside: as I’ve always told you, it is there to guide you.

I miss you already. I love you and I will see you soon, when we all come back together for a new, prosperous year together. Every day is a new day.

I love you.

Mum x