Of Frogs and Freedom

TLDR: My son’s ex-partner is moving hundreds of miles away with my grandchildren. My heart is breaking, but my conscience is clear.

Dear Nicola,

You cried when you told me you were moving back to your hometown. You were worried about me. You were worried about the distance, the Beanies, and the gap it would leave in my life.

I need you to know something, woman to woman.

Society has a very specific script for people in my position.

As the mother of the man who failed you, I am ‘supposed’ to be defensive.

I am ‘supposed’ to prioritise biological loyalty over objective truth.

I am ‘supposed’ to feel slighted or abandoned, bitter or angry, because you’re taking my grandchildren hundreds of miles away to be near your sister and have a clean break from this filthy city.

I’m burning that script.

How the fuck could I, a woman who has spent the last two years clawing my way out of the wreckage of an abusive marriage, even contemplate denying, negating, or gaslighting you?

To look at your struggle and look away would be to betray every act of Good Selfish I’ve worked for.

I’ve spent fifty-six years learning that closing my eyes and ears to my own needs is the ultimate cowardice. I won’t do it to you as you seek to hear your own needs.

The Intellectual vs. The Emotional

Intellectually, I’m your loudest cheerleader. I understand the need for physical distance from the reminders of the wreckage.

I understand that your sister can provide the practical, daily support that I simply can’t.

I support your freedom with everything I have.

Emotionally? My heart is breaking.

I’m going to miss the weekly raids on my house.

I’m going to miss the sound of feet running up the path and the wide-armed hugs.

I’m going to miss inspecting the wildlife pond with the Beanies, looking for signs of life, hoping for frogs to move into the space we’ve nurtured together.

I’m even going to miss finding half-eaten sausage rolls in the strangest, most inexplicable corners of my kitchen.

I’m going to miss giggling requests that I do a Building Inspection on the newly created dens, issuing crayon-drawn certificates that confirm the structure is comfortable enough, equipped with sufficient snacks and drinks, and has a suitable known password for access.

There is a quietness coming to this house that I didn’t ask for, and it’s going to be painful for a while.

The Choice

But here is the core of it: I said, very clearly, that I refuse to be a passenger on my son’s sinking ship.

I’ve watched his physical and mental decline due to his alcoholism.

I’ve seen the damage he’s done to you and the Beanies.

To side with him because he is my flesh and blood would be an insult to the word love.

Real love is holding someone accountable.

Real love is saying, “I will not enable your destruction of others.”

By supporting your move, I am protecting the Beanies’ future, their security and sense of self.

I’m ensuring that they grow up seeing that their grandmother values their safety and their mother’s peace more than a convenient Sunday afternoon visit.

The New Tribe

We will continue contact.

There will be video calls and long-distance visits, stories voice-recorded and shared. We’ll work out ways.

It won’t be the same, but it will be honest.

You aren’t taking them away from me. You’re taking them to safety.

And as long as they are safe, the True Jess mission is accomplished.

Go and be with your sister.

Go and find your new roots and shoots. Take all of those horribly hard-won lessons and flourish, lady.

I’ll be here, always with an open heart, counting the frogs in the pond, looking forward to the next video call, and sharing our next chapters.

MUSIC OF THE DAY:

JP