Just over a year ago my eldest daughter followed the path of young adults all over the world and moved out of our family home. What a bittersweet experience that was. After a day of packing up all of the bits and pieces that made up her life at home she, and all the things pertaining to her, drove away – ready to forge her own life path. It was time. She needed to ‘spread her wings’ and isn’t that the goal of every good parent? To raise independent adults? The job of a parent is to gradually put themselves out of a job – right?
As she drove down the driveway, I felt that sudden catch in my soul and heard by own sharp intake of breath. My baby just drove away from ‘home’ for the last time. After watching until she had completely disappeared from my sight I turned and walked back up the steps to my front door. Without thinking I found myself standing at her now ‘old bedroom’ door’. How can a room that was so full of life suddenly seem so gapingly empty? The cozy little life she created between those four walls was gone. Just dust bunnies and a few random bits of rubbish left behind. Queue the ’emotional mummy moment’ as the tears started leaking from my eyes. So, this is what it feels like when your baby leaves home.
I got a little bit of perspective on the depth of that feeling today when I stopped to take some photos at the local ‘Arch of Victory’. A beautiful old and cherished landmark for those from the community we’ve lost at war. Photos snapped I wandered into the Garden of the Grieving Mother that happens to be right next door. My first thoughts were tinged with pride that as a community we can recognize women and in particular mums in this way.
Then, as I ‘wandered and pondered’ the concept started to touch me a little more deeply. I can’t even begin to understand what it must feel like to know that in any given moment the baby you have loved since you first knew they were in your belly, could die in the name of a war. That gaping sense of dread and living in constant fear must eat away at your soul day after day. You’d be stuck in continual ‘fight or flight’. Mentally preparing for the worst while desperately hoping for the best – for potentially years at a time. Even though we’ve all seen the scenes of heartache in movies, I’ve never truly contemplated how deeply traumatizing and exhausting that life must be.
I left today feeling very glad we’ve been able to recognize this and acknowledge the many mums who have faced this painful road that is so completely out of their control. The craftmanship of this sculpture and the space it inhabits have left a mark on my soul. While the pain of a child moving out of home does even begin to compare it does give me a glimpse of the mother heart and how broken war would leave it.
The Grieving Mother is a sculpture by Peter Corlett OAM. She (the grieving mother) is a depiction from World War One but there to commemorate all mums who have lived the horror of losing a child to war. She captures the pain, grief and fear in her expression and body language and tells her story even without words.
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