Dear ones, I didn’t get much sleep at the weekend and had a typical attack of: Mum’s scared. I was home alone on Saturday night (yes, this happens with big children!), didn’t know where everyone was and couldn’t really fall asleep, but couldn’t really read either, hung around on my mobile phone, dozed off and at some point thought: Nah, at least with one child I’d like to know where they are.
I found out that he was stranded in another city and would actually like to go home, but the driver didn’t want to go home yet. At some point, I wrote that I would get in the car now to pick it up. No, no, they would be on their way soon. When then? With whom anyway? There’s school on Monday. Eventually it leaked out that it would be a fully occupied car with a young driver at the wheel and my alarm bells went off in my tiredness.
Mum is scared
Nope, nope, there was an accident just around the corner that killed four out of five teenagers. How often had I driven past the scene of the accident on my way to the riding stables and seen crying teenagers hugging each other and laying flowers or cuddly toys or photos or letters.
On two occasions, I myself accompanied young people to the scene, we talked, kept silent together and shook our heads. I had also attended the funeral of one of the young passengers; friends and family had stamped handprints in the brightest colours on the Arg, including a colourful rainbow. Sometimes you only realise how well or not well you package such experiences when you yourself suddenly slip into anxiety in a similar situation.
The end of the story was that I was on the dedicated line for about an hour and a half and then just fell into bed exhausted when all my babies were finally safe again. There were apologies and apologies that night and the next morning, as well as explanations of how sensible and conscientious the person was driving and that there was no danger at any time.
Of mutual understanding
But my child was understanding and told me himself that he knew that I had really only reacted out of concern because I just wanted nothing to happen to him. And that’s how it was and still is. But there was that lack of control again, which can haunt us from time to time with older children and which you can get extremely caught up in as a parent, even if you would otherwise describe yourself as very relaxed. I wasn’t in this situation, but I was able to have a very transparent conversation with the child about it.
What’s it all about in the end?
I explained why I panicked for a moment, I was able to make a wish that we would talk about homecoming options earlier next time and we were finally able to fall into each other’s arms and promise that we would manage it better next time. And I’m not telling you this as a prime example, but as an illustration that we all have weaker moments and perhaps overreact, and that the important thing is not to hold a grudge, but to communicate.
Because why is there worry at the end? Out of love. Exactly.
We just don’t want anything to happen to them, full stop. Sometimes we put up with it and sometimes it brings out the Kontrolleti in us. Humanly. Parental. And as long as they remain exceptions: normal. I’m sure you know this too, right?
