It’s January, 2019. We have had a wonderful Christmas and New Year. My mum came to visit us for the first time in New Zealand since we emigrated in 2011 - it was amazing showing her the country we call ‘home’. We visited a living Maori village, we kayaked at night to see the glow worms in a canyon, we went to the beach, we saw waterfalls (lots of them!), we went shopping (lots of that too) and we spent time and energy on each other. It was so fulfilling to see my 2 year old daughter building her relationship with her nanny. Most of all, it was lovely to just be ... together. To have mum around as part of every day life.
Then comes the inevitable time of having to drop mum back off at Auckland Airport for the long trip back to Wales. This is that pit in your stomach that just won’t go away. This is the dread that you feel when you’re on the way to the airport to pick them up in the first place; knowing that next time you’re here you’ll be dropping them off. This is that ball of fire in your throat which hurts and feels like it will never go away. These are the tears which fall inevitably and consistently and effortlessly because it hurts so deep inside. This is leaving a piece of your heart at Auckland Airport, every time you come back to drop off the most precious pieces of cargo you will ever be connected to. Every. Single. Time.
And yet this is the life we chose. We chose to live 12,000 miles away from the people who complete us. We chose New Zealand. Others are not so fortunate and are separated for a myriad of reasons beyond their control. We chose it. It doesn’t make it hurt any less. And so we look forward to the ‘next times’.
