“The greatest gift you can give your children is independence.” My mantra as my children grew. There were barriers and boundaries, yes, but surmounting those are necessary to growth too. It was only in relatively recent years that I realised this: the gift of independence brings pain to the giver. I left home in Liverpool at eighteen for college, not choosing to go to one of the two local ones, but to travel far south, beyond the familiar homelands of the north, to Leicester – nearly in the south, in the minds of my parents. Trunks were loaded on a train and a daughter was waved off for three months at a time. A letter once a week and a very occasional phone call.

I didn’t know until much later that they were asked by more than one friend, “Why is Ann going so far away?” The same question was asked again, when instead of coming back home, I lived in Nottingham, flat sharing for three years. It was all a bit too daring in the sixties! But they let me go, let me spread my wings and learn – about how other lives were lived, and about me too. Apart from a few months, I never did go back to live in my loving family home. They gave me the gift of independence.

Fast forward. Now two of my three children have lived across the world for over twenty years: my son – first in New Zealand, now in Germany, my daughter – in Israel. I have six grandchildren whom we have to fly to, to meet. This recent ‘unprecedented situation’ with Covid, has made them all seem so much further away. Friends over the years have said, “ How do you cope with them living all that way away?” and I have always been able to explain that they are there, knowing that we love them, and we are here, knowing that they love us. “And we can always hop on a plane.” So when that certainty was suddenly removed, the pain was truly felt. WhatsApp and video calls are all very well, but they don’t deliver a hug, or a shoulder to cry on when it gets hard. I know now what my mum and dad went through all those years ago, when they gave me that precious gift.