Separation Anxiety
When I was 7 years old I was living in Wellington New Zealand with my mother and sister; Mum had a sabatical from her job and had always wanted to live in New Zealand so that's what we did. She had separated from my dad before I was born, but they maintained (as far as I could see) a pretty amiable and civil relationship. I spent the weekends and holidays with him. I don't know if he was exactly over the moon about me going to the other side of the planet for a year, but obviously he agreed to it, and he stayed in Calgary AB where he was a physics professor at the University of Calgary.
The day we went to the airport he gave me a little pin in the shape of a cherub with a little blue stone in its right wing. It was my guardian angel, he said. I surprised myself by how much I cried at saying goodbye.
It was the last time I saw him.
He died that January.
So with that history in mind, recent news of parents being separated from their children, children being separated from their parents inspires a specific type of anguish and rage. Each time I allow my mind to imagine how being separated from your parent must feel, I'm back to being 7 years old being told that I never get to see my father again, and there's this metallic, salty taste in my mouth and a tightness around my eyes and cheek bones as I try really hard not to cry. And keep in mind that I was with family when I got the news, people who love me and hurt along with me; and my dad was with people he loved; he was in a hospital with professionals who were aiming to keep him alive, he had a good a meal. Compare those circumstances with crossing a desert because it's the only choice that offered a possibility of their kids growing up safely; leaving behind everything familiar, taking the essentials and shedding 3/4s of that two days into the trip and then the sole reason for doing this is detached and placed somewhere else, who knows where and who knows if it's ever returning.
Some of those kids might be young enough to forget this and be relatively unscathed. But I doubt it.
This event will be like a geological event; a line in personal history that can be used to establish a time period. They will think, "before the separation I was like this," and "after being separated from my parents I was like this," or "ever since we came to America I have difficulty trusting people," or "I can't let people get close to me, because then they leave." Like Poof! this person you trusted and loved and depended on for safety and nourishment of various kinds is just... not there anymore... How can you depend on anything ever again?
So, listen: If you're having difficulty understanding just how monstrous this action is, or empathizing or feeling any emotion about it I encourage you to imagine it's me telling you I grew up without my dad, and that I never got him to walk me down the aisle at my wedding and I burst into tears when my oldest brother mentioned him in his speech, and that I have difficulty not sobbing when I go to weddings and see the father/daughter dance. That's sad right? It's not as sad a government approved and instructed trauma.
Imagine getting a phone call that your mother has disappeared, or died, or your oldest brother vanished. There's no explanation, there's no compensation or replacement, just an empty space where they were, and silence. No more smiles from them, or likes on your FB posts, or well-meaning but infuriating attempts to still baby you. You never get to have Sunday lunch with them again, and even the things that irritated the snot out of you, like maybe all the dollar store crap they drop off at your house because it seemed like something you'd like, or the Christmas and birthday presents that you keep out of guilt: that's done. Stuff will happen in your life: marriage, new jobs, moving house, having kids, getting a tattoo. You won't know how they feel about it. You won't get their take on gay marriage or North and South Korea talking. You will miss their blueberry pie and wish more than anything that you had a chance to get the recipe from them. But you didn't because you didn't see this coming. Because you were 7.
Are they proud of you?
Are they happy with the life you're living?
Occasionally I have these dreams where my dad has been alive this whole time. In some of the dreams everybody but me knows this and I'm just finding out. A feeling of relief and tearful joy floods me like a warm beach with some red lines of anger. Your were alive this whole time? where the fuck were you? Why didn't you come to me sooner? But when I wake up, I feel the loss all over again.
The day we went to the airport he gave me a little pin in the shape of a cherub with a little blue stone in its right wing. It was my guardian angel, he said. I surprised myself by how much I cried at saying goodbye.
It was the last time I saw him.
He died that January.
So with that history in mind, recent news of parents being separated from their children, children being separated from their parents inspires a specific type of anguish and rage. Each time I allow my mind to imagine how being separated from your parent must feel, I'm back to being 7 years old being told that I never get to see my father again, and there's this metallic, salty taste in my mouth and a tightness around my eyes and cheek bones as I try really hard not to cry. And keep in mind that I was with family when I got the news, people who love me and hurt along with me; and my dad was with people he loved; he was in a hospital with professionals who were aiming to keep him alive, he had a good a meal. Compare those circumstances with crossing a desert because it's the only choice that offered a possibility of their kids growing up safely; leaving behind everything familiar, taking the essentials and shedding 3/4s of that two days into the trip and then the sole reason for doing this is detached and placed somewhere else, who knows where and who knows if it's ever returning.
Some of those kids might be young enough to forget this and be relatively unscathed. But I doubt it.
This event will be like a geological event; a line in personal history that can be used to establish a time period. They will think, "before the separation I was like this," and "after being separated from my parents I was like this," or "ever since we came to America I have difficulty trusting people," or "I can't let people get close to me, because then they leave." Like Poof! this person you trusted and loved and depended on for safety and nourishment of various kinds is just... not there anymore... How can you depend on anything ever again?
So, listen: If you're having difficulty understanding just how monstrous this action is, or empathizing or feeling any emotion about it I encourage you to imagine it's me telling you I grew up without my dad, and that I never got him to walk me down the aisle at my wedding and I burst into tears when my oldest brother mentioned him in his speech, and that I have difficulty not sobbing when I go to weddings and see the father/daughter dance. That's sad right? It's not as sad a government approved and instructed trauma.
Imagine getting a phone call that your mother has disappeared, or died, or your oldest brother vanished. There's no explanation, there's no compensation or replacement, just an empty space where they were, and silence. No more smiles from them, or likes on your FB posts, or well-meaning but infuriating attempts to still baby you. You never get to have Sunday lunch with them again, and even the things that irritated the snot out of you, like maybe all the dollar store crap they drop off at your house because it seemed like something you'd like, or the Christmas and birthday presents that you keep out of guilt: that's done. Stuff will happen in your life: marriage, new jobs, moving house, having kids, getting a tattoo. You won't know how they feel about it. You won't get their take on gay marriage or North and South Korea talking. You will miss their blueberry pie and wish more than anything that you had a chance to get the recipe from them. But you didn't because you didn't see this coming. Because you were 7.
Are they proud of you?
Are they happy with the life you're living?
Occasionally I have these dreams where my dad has been alive this whole time. In some of the dreams everybody but me knows this and I'm just finding out. A feeling of relief and tearful joy floods me like a warm beach with some red lines of anger. Your were alive this whole time? where the fuck were you? Why didn't you come to me sooner? But when I wake up, I feel the loss all over again.
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