I Love Them

By now you will all be familiar with the terrible story of Luke Batty. As a mother, as a separated spouse, as a single parent, as a human being, I am devastated by his death.

I don't have anything to add to the commentary on the tragedy. And this post isn't designed to be controversial, or to get hits. I just need to write it, for me, and for my kids. It is about love. It is about joy. I love them. I love them.

The depth of feeling I have for my children overwhelms me. It brings tears to my eyes as I sit at this computer. After nearly fifteen years of parenthood, it remains as strong. I feel grateful for my kids every second of every day. I get tired. I get sick of housework. I get frustrated. I get bored. But every time I look at those three incredible people, I am consumed with love.

My son is fourteen, and growing up, and becoming a man. But every night he wants me to kiss him good night, and every time he does I feel lucky. I go into his room and I run my fingers through his shaggy hair, and I kiss his still-smooth cheeks, and I tell him how much I love him. I am so in awe of that amazing kid. I feel ridiculously proud of who he is becoming.

My daughter is twelve, and is beautiful inside and out. She radiates warmth and understanding, she is generous and kind. In the mornings, if she is still asleep when I wake, I like to sneak into her bed and 'steal her warm'. In the evenings, when saying goodnight, I kiss her on the eyelids and pretend to eat her eyes. I cannot believe that I created her. She is the best person I know.

My six year old is just like me. She dances with abandon, composes poetry on the spot, laughs hysterically and cries passionately, and wants endless hugs and love. She has a heart-shaped face and massive saucepan eyes, and every morning when she emerges from her room it is like falling in love for the first time. I cuddle her like a dolly on my lap. I could stay like that for hours.

I love my kids. I feel so intensely lucky to have them. I can't bear that other people have been deprived of theirs. My parents lost a child. My sorrow for them is almost worse than the pain I feel at losing a sister. I want my parents to share in the joy of my children. They generate enough joy and enough love to go around.

I am so sorry, I am so hideously sorry for Rosie Batty. I wish her long life, and I hope that one day she will find peace.

And in the meantime, I need to say it: I love my kids. I love them. I am so lucky to have them. I am a woman truly blessed. I will sneak into their rooms and I will kiss them while they are sleeping. I will burst with pride when I hear their daily triumphs. My heart will constrict with pain when they tell me their challenges. I love my kids so much. I love them. I love them.