OVER the last six months, three of my friends are dealing with their children moving half way across the world. Two of the children have moved to Canada and the other to Australia. They moved for a better job, a better quality of life and for a better future and, as much as my friends are happy and excited that their children have an exciting adventure ahead, they are also devastated and heartbroken that they are so very far away from their kids.
As I was speaking to one of my friends about her 21-year-old son, who was leaving the next day for Australia, I actually felt physically sick thinking my own son might be some day out of my reach, too far away for a hug once a week. That some day I might not see one of my children, who I have kissed and hugged and told them I love them every day for 18 years, for six months or more.
But that will sadly no doubt be the reality for me, my friends and many others. My 14-year-old son and his friends already talk about where in the world they want to go and live and work. My older son doesn't have a very positive attitude to the place he has grown up in. Most of their friends aren't even remotely contemplating staying in Northern Ireland. And that makes me really sad, but not surprised.
If I was just starting out in adult life I wouldn't stay here either. Plenty of places in the world have worse problems and outlooks than us, but we are going backwards and there seems to be nothing for our kids here apart from riding the same toxic merry-go-round year in and year out. Regardless of how hard it is to say, there are simply far more opportunities elsewhere.
If my son or daughter secured an amazing job, life-changing opportunity or met and fell in love with someone on the other side of the world, I know I would have mixed emotions about them leaving. Deep down I would know that their quality of life and happiness would be advanced greatly. But I know I would also be heartbroken to see them go, and angry that those opportunities are not available here despite the promises made to us 20 years ago.
Twenty one years ago, the husband and I contemplated leaving this place which has scarred us both to start another life in America or Canada. We thought a better life was possible somewhere else. We thought about leaving our families behind and starting our own family elsewhere. A year later, the signing of the Good Friday Agreement changed our perception. We stayed because we were promised a different, better life.
We stayed and we brought our kids up here. That better life didn't exactly materialise and now our kids are also familiar with guns and bombs and murder and face their own unique Northern Ireland-shaped challenges. Our kids will soon be in the same predicament that we found ourselves in 20 years ago, torn between family and wanting a better life outside this place.
I look at my brother and the life he has in America and I do sometimes regret not going. I suppose most of us assume that our kids will live within a manageable distance and that we will see them and our grandchildren regularly. But Australia and New Zealand aren't exactly around the corner.
I met our new Secretary of State, Julian Smith, on Friday. As we were all quizzing him, I secretly hoped that he would make a change and get us back on track. That he would jump start this car and get us moving forward again. And I hoped we wouldn't get our hopes dashed yet again.
My friends are now grieving for the dreams they once had for their families and adjusting to their harsh change in circumstances. They feel a mixture of shock, denial, sadness and acceptance – and they cry. They cry a lot.
I don't envy them. But I also know that in a few years time, it could be my turn. But, before that time comes, I hope that Northern Ireland can turn around and fulfil the promise it made to a 23-year-old me who just wanted a good life for her family.
