The day after my son turned seven

Finn turned 7 yesterday and we got him a skateboard. He was thrilled and insisted on going to the local skate park, a somewhat dubious part of town. Unsurprisingly, Finn immediately became fixated on reading all the interesting slogans on the walls.

“Hey Mum, that guy can’t spell ‘math’ correctly” said Finn, pointing to a big red spray painted ‘My mom does meth” artwork.

“And Mum, what does it mean by ‘Smoke weed and see god?’”.

Hmm. I wasn’t anticipating his 7th birthday to be such a game changer.

The wind was blowing strongly and all of us sat at the edge of the cavernous skate pit. We watched the skaters, a young girl in a pink helmet and frills, a grizzled grey nomad and two surfer dudes, teeter on the edge, waiting for their turn, before decisively swooping into the bowl, grinding graceful arcs, etching lacy designs in the smooth concrete.

*

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This whole week I had been plagued with separation anxiety. That familiar secret solitary ache.

Missing my little family pack already before I embark next week on a long half work – half 10th wedding anniversary journey to Singapore, Sumba Indonesia, Bhutan, Rome, Marrakech and London.

But sitting on the warm concrete, inhaling the liquid velvet air, heavy with the promise of rain to come, I was just happy to be there, with my family. Existing.  Moments of stillness and togetherness, I knit them into the fabric of my soul and rely on them to keep me warm when I am in the temple of my aloneness.

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