Opinion

A letter to my children

By Christine Anderson

It has always been about you.

But somewhere along the way, I got lost.

Lost in me, lost in my life — my wants, my needs.

Coronavirus has given me time to think and has brought you back to me, to how it was when you were young: when you came first.

When it was all about us.

As a young girl, I remember I used to dream about being a mum and what you would look like — the colour of your hair and eyes.

The person you would be and my role in helping you be a kind person, living the life you wanted.

In my 20s my dreams came true — with the partner I carefully chose to be your dad — you arrived into my life.

It was still all about you.

It was for you I worked long hours to buy the stuff I never had: the designer clothes, latest games and toys.

I didn’t want you to go without.

I wanted to give you everything.

Maybe it was during this time I got lost.

Got caught up in making sure you had the stuff.

I forgot what it’s really all about.

I encouraged you to spend time with your friends.

Was okay when you didn’t want to attend family activities.

If you were happy, I was happy.

Then you left.

And I started thinking about me: my travels, my life, my friends, my social life.

I’d still try to keep the connection.

I would call you, but you wouldn’t answer.

I’d wait days for you to return my call. Often it didn’t come.

So, I’d try again the next week, and then the next.

You’d eventually answer.

You were busy, you said. Meeting friends. You had stuff to do.

You couldn’t talk long.

I think you’d forgotten what it’s all about.

It became about you.

This strange new life has shifted some axes.

I call you now and you answer on the first ring.

We can talk for more than an hour.

It's now all about us.

● Christine Anderson is the McPherson Media Group's director, content and audience