Departures
I sit on her bed, looking at what was her view through the window: treetops and a sky that she frequently called me to come look at when there was a sunset. Something tangibly ‘her’ lingers in the air of our home. The air that her music once filled: wall-bending diva classics at shower time or a softer playlist as she washed the dishes in the evening.
This important sadness concludes a stage of our relationship as Nicole flies the nest. It’s a departure that a parent prepares for, from the minute we hold our newborn. ‘I love you but one day you will leave me.’
In any kind of relationship, change and departure illuminates the vitalness of trust and the pain of vulnerability. I have a number of photos of Nicole at the ‘Departures’ gate of an airport or a drop off – for a new term at uni or a trip. Images of a young woman on a quest to learn and expand her universe, reflecting images of the infant, exploring her environment, her identity. And my private thoughts: will that expanding universe include me, your mum?
I reflect on a number of those shifts in our relationship; from the night that Nicole stopped breastfeeding (her decision at nine months), to signifiers that she was becoming a woman – be it flouting my ‘no eyeliner to school’ rule at 13, to entering a sexual relationship with her boyfriend – and all the landmarks in between. They brought sadness for a fading era, but excitement at the new one. For each change I felt a strange chasm opening between us in which hung my question: ‘do you still need me in this phase and how do I behave in it?’
Many types of relationships (not just parent and child) include this phase – where one or more person needs to flex or grow, at which point the relationship will adapt or falter.
Adapting brings challenges. I tried to give Nicole and her boyfriend privacy. Not easy in a two-bed flat. At 19, when she went travelling and a few years later, to study in Australia, I was again aware of the shift. At every departure I told her, ‘don’t worry about messaging me. Focus on enjoying where you are.’ My only request was to, if she could, let me know she had arrived safely in a new place. She did. I realise now that shining within each chasm of doubt were particles of trust.
This was first highlighted to me by my mum when Nicole was about two. Mum would often come and stay, to help when I went to work. ‘She trusts you,’ she observed about Nicole’s calmness one day, ‘she knows you will always come back’. Reassurance and trust – the mainstay of any relationship.
We’d had a rocky start; I struggled with the break-up from Nicole’s dad when she was one, and a deep depression that had inhabited my marriage for years. I’m thankful that Nicole cannot remember those days. Now I see it as part of our triumph. Nicole unwittingly helped me through it, her tiny hand in mine every day.
Sharing values can bond a relationship – but where do you start as a parent? I’ve always had a passion for equality; it influenced my career path. I didn’t want to influence Nicole’s career, but I did want to share some of my values. When she was 12, we visited the International Slavery Museum in Liverpool. Whilst there, Nicole and I became separated during which Nicole watched some distressing portrayals of the life of enslaved people. That night, she came to my bed in tears. I let her cry, let her process the shock and shame of inhumanity. I wasn’t ‘glad’ that she was upset – I felt so guilty – but I was reassured that she had the capacity to react, to ask questions. She still does, reflected in her writings, of which I’m immensely proud. As the years passed, I realised that if I tried to show her respect and faith, she was more likely to have respect and faith in herself.
I’m proud of Nicole’s inclusive integrity but it extends beyond that. Nicole shows me ways to propel our values – from steering me away from unethical clothing websites, to enthusing about books and programmes that will educate, sometimes shock; then she explains what I can do to further the cause.
The absence of a sibling saddened me when she was younger, so encouraging Nicole’s friendships was important. Today, her friendships are loyal, meaningful and fun. Last year, Nicole grieved for the death of a friend from back home. Like kind fireflies around a sad flame, her uni friends cooked for her, cuddled her and painted her toenails. Despite the pain of not being able to hold her, I was comforted knowing that her friends’ love would carry her.
I never tried to be Nicole’s ‘friend’. I felt that within the role of ‘mum’ it was important to ‘assert rank’ at times. But as we venture into the next phase, I’m heartened by the flow of familiarity that comes with recognition, understanding and love. I’m so grateful that we do enjoy a friendship now and I’m adjusting to her supporting me at times. More recently we have both learnt the value of nurturing ourselves as well as others, and we remind each other to do this! Our relationship is a gently turning spiral. After 23 years, I have evolved as a person thanks to her and I expect to be always learning.
Written by Colette Norbury
I work for the mental health charity Mind, as Training Lead for the Workplace Wellbeing service in Oxfordshire and have written articles on mental health in the workplace. Years ago, I had short stories published, was a freelance copy writer and wrote a blog based on my work with teenagers. I like running, climbing, enjoying nature. Or just daydreaming, listening to podcasts, music or reading a really good book.