I travelled as far as you can before you start coming back in 2013. My only daughter flew to New Zealand from the UK when she was 17 – letting her go and, indeed, helping her do so, was probably the most difficult and painful thing I have ever done as I was sure, as I watched her dance through the departure gate at Heathrow, that she would never return to live in the UK again. (I was right.)
I was there for her first marriage which I was certain was a mistake, but I had said my piece, she refuted it and I wasn't going to argue any further. I was there, at her request, in the delivery room when her first child was born. She brought him to the UK (at my expense but her ghastly flight) to show him to his surviving great grandparents. Such a joy for my ageing mother! I sat on the phone through the night offering love and support when her marriage was falling apart and her husband became abusive. Two weeks after my mother's death and my father-in-law's death on the same day, I sat on the phone offering as much and love and support as I could about the tiny, frail, massively premature granddaughter who had just been born.
Mr absent and I travelled to see her on a number of occasions – for three months on one memorable and glorious occasion – and paid for her, her partner (now her husband) and two of her children to visit us.
We could not have emigrated to New Zealand without the support of absentdaughter and her husband as we were too old for any criteria except the unique family one. As Mr absent had some health problems, which the immigration health inspector persisted in believing were far more serious than they are, we endured endless delays and sorting documents before we obtained residency. Absentdaughter was seriously on the case with endless e-mails to counter the health accusations.
We live 15 minutes' drive from absentdaughter's house and 4 minutes walk from the school that three of the younger children attend. They are here four afternoons a week after school days (and two mornings for breakfast). I no longer have number five for one day a week when we would go to the Aquatic Centre because he began school this year. I do look after number six for two full days a week. My daughter could not do the really worthwhile and responsible, but very satisfying job she has without my input on childcare.
I do far more childcare – especially in the holidays – than originally planned and I do get desperately tired. I haven't made many new friends and, as I am quite a sociable person, I feel a bit lonely some of the time. I am still living in a quite an expensive, although not particularly glorious rental house while trying to sell my houses in the UK so I can buy one here. (I have to jiggle the timing because I need the rent from them to pay my own way.)
This is not quite the life I envisaged but…one of my granddaughters rang this evening to ask if I could help with some homework tomorrow morning after she has had her breakfast here. (It involves having full-cream milk and absentdaughter always buys skim.) Of course I can help – I know what she has to do – and I am happy to be here to be the one to help. Tiny but important.
I have had moments when I have thought about returning to the UK – a very expensive business – but in my heart I don't want to and helping my granddaugher is just one reason why.