Leaving but not gone!

 

There are moments on this nomadic path of mine that feel heavier than any caravan hitch or dusty road. This morning, I carried one of those moments all the way to school.

Niko, my ten-year-old grandson — brilliant, hilarious, sharp as a tack, and brave beyond belief — had a bit of a fall-out with me. Not a tantrum. Not even harsh words. Just the quiet friction of unspoken feelings slipping out sideways.

It’s been brewing, if I’m honest. Underneath the jokes and the ball games and the patient teaching (from him to me, naturally), I’ve sensed something unspoken in his eyes. And today, I saw it clearly: my grandson is scared. He’s sad. Not dramatic, not falling apart. But hurting. Because I’m leaving.

He’s lost too much already. His younger brother, taken far too soon, left a hole that’s still gaping in all our hearts. And I think, without even realising it, Niko decided that he had to be strong for everyone. For his mom. For himself. For me.

But he’s just ten.

Ten, and trying to hold it all together.

I’ve been his constant. His go-to when his mom was busy. His laughter buddy. His teacher (occasionally) and his student (mostly). His safe place. And now he sees me packing up, hitching the caravan, driving away.

This morning we talked. Really talked. On the drive to school, I tried to put grown-up truths into ten-year-old words. I told him I wasn’t leaving him — I was simply choosing something I need to do for myself. To heal. To grow. To become a fuller version of the person he already knows and loves.

And I reminded him: he can’t always control what others choose, but he can always choose how he responds. That’s real strength — not pretending everything’s fine, but learning to feel the hard things without letting them swallow you whole.

It’s a hard lesson. For both of us.

Today I was reminded again that the ripples of my choices touch more than just me. But I also believe that love — real, grounded love — stretches across distance. That he will come to understand this season for what it is: not abandonment, but transformation.

I’m still his grandmother. Always. No matter where the wheels roll.

Did something here speak to you?

Leave a comment if you feel moved, or simply sit with me in quiet.

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— x Elsabe