As a mother, my natural instincts are to protect my children at all times, to ensure that they feel safe, that they are safe. I want to shower them with love, affection and attention so that they recognise just how special each and every one of them are. I don't ever want them to feel vulnerable, unimportant or (God-forbid), unloved.
As a mother, to be robbed of the ability to enact these instincts, even for only some of the time, is harrowing.
From the tender ages of 2,3 and 5, my eldest children and I have had to endure time apart. I remember the emotional turmoil of those early visits, and the ensuing mind-heart conflict: I knew that they had a right to be with their father and his family, but also felt completely overwhelmed by the fact that I could do nothing to protect them whilst in his care. Now, under ordinary circumstances, a mum could take comfort in the fact that their father would be equally protective of his children. He should be. But, sadly, I know that isn't the case here.
Nine years on, it still hurts. It still haunts. I try the positive self-talk, assuring myself that I have laid strong foundations in them that will hold them in good stead when they are away. I remind myself that they are getting older, more mature and consequently more resilient with each passng day. When the self-talk begins to turn ugly, I try to numb the pain by keeping busy. Try ever-so hard to occupy my mind and time with everyday pressing, time-consuming mundanities. And at night, I avoid bed until I am beyond tired, in the hope that I may be rendered unconscious before the drifting mind begins its guilt-prompting discourse.
But I am not always like this. Sometimes, I am hopeful. And I've worked out that my hope is directly linked to my mindfulness of God: the more mindful I am, the more hopeful I become. The more I submit to His Will, the more relieved I become.
But, I am human. And I am a mother. And sometimes, I waver. I wish I didn't.
My eldest children will be coming home tomorrow, after more than a week away. Thank God.
