(and I was left speechless. Because he was right. Not about me lying. But about what he was feeling)
Last night I put my children to bed. It was the last day of the holidays. My youngest fell asleep almost immediately. My eldest took a little longer. I told him his usual bedtime story. Gave him a kiss. Ran my fingers through his hair. Then everything went quiet. I thought he was already asleep. Or almost. Until I heard his voice. Quietly. Through tears.
It had been a difficult day. I had to tell him off several times. Took a few deep breaths. Dug deep for patience I wasn’t even sure I still had. So when I heard him start talking, I thought the usual “I’m sorry, Mum” was coming. But it wasn’t.
Tomorrow he is going to sleep at his dad’s. Until now, his dad had been living with us. In the meantime, he found a new home. And tomorrow will be the first day my son gets to see it. The first night he will sleep there. And that was when he told me:
- “Mum… I want to go to a new house. But only if you go too”
I asked him if he meant his dad’s new house. He said yes. I explained, as calmly as I could, that I couldn’t move into his dad’s house. That his dad and I had separated. That I would love to be able to be with him all the time, but that we couldn’t all live together anymore. That we had to learn to live differently. That the most important thing was that we all still loved him and his brother very much. And that, whatever happened, I would always be there when he needed me.
He interrupted me:
- “No, Mum. That’s not true. You’re lying”
I stopped. I asked him what wasn’t true. And he answered:
- “That’s not true because when I’m with Dad and I need you… you’re not with me. So you’re lying”
And I was left speechless. Because he was right. Not about me lying. But about what he was feeling. I can tell him that I’m always with him. I can tell him that my love goes with him to every home. I can tell him he can call me. That he can ask for me. That he can think of me. That I’m only five minutes away. That he is never alone. But when he is in one home and I am in another… I am not there. And perhaps that is one of the hardest things to explain to children.
We, as adults, try to find beautiful words to make everything more bearable: “two homes”; “two families”; “more love”; “new routines”; “your parents will always love you the same way”… And all of that can be true. But sometimes, a child just wants something very simple. The person they love. Right there. Beside them. And there is no beautiful sentence that can replace that. I kissed him. Took his hand. Held him close and asked if he wanted another story before falling asleep. He said yes. I started telling it. And halfway through, he fell asleep.
I stayed there. Between him and his brother. One hand holding each of them. Without moving. Listening to them breathe. Thinking about everything we are going to have to learn from now on. The new house. The new routines. The nights apart. The missing. The crying. The questions. The answers I still don’t have. And, above all, how to explain to my children that some things have changed… without making them feel that they have lost the right to wish they were different.
The tears started falling slowly. I didn’t wipe them away. I simply stayed there. Making the most of every second beside them while I had them with me. Holding them. Listening to them breathe. And wishing for something completely impossible. For that moment to last forever. Because maybe that is what we want most as parents. Not to go back. Not to change everything. Just to have our children close enough that, when they need us, we can be there. Without having to explain where we are. Without having to say “call me”. Without having to promise that our love can cross walls, streets and two homes.
Because that night, my son taught me something I already knew… but had never quite managed to feel in that way: there is a huge difference between always being in someone’s heart… and being able to be beside them when they need a hug.
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