My love letter to them*

*I've been reading so many of your beautiful blogs about how in love with your children you are, and I could never fully imagine what that might be like until a few days ago...

Mamo and Tato came to visit me in London a few days ago. They arrived on Sunday morning and left on Wednesday afternoon. It was like medicine. I got plenty of hugs and kisses, plenty of dinners out with the whole family here, and plenty of time to look at their beautiful faces and marvel at how cool they are sometimes.

Mamo and Tato are like chalk and cheese sometimes. Tato is a cuddly man who reminds me a bit of Tommy Lee Jones. Tall, salt and pepper hair, and dresses like a guy who lives on a sailboat 24/7. He has a fantastic sense of humour, and loves going out and playing host to people. He can talk your ear off about pretty much any subject, loves parties, and loves filthy jokes. He can also have a horrific temper, but I've only seen it a few times (mostly when as a child, I pissed him off to the point of utter ridiculousness). But he has always been quick with a loving word and fierce hug, no matter what, and he likes nothing better than just being with Mamo and relaxing with a good book on a boat.

Mamo is a diminutive, sharply Scandinavian-looking woman with a runner's body, very muscular. Blonde wavy hair, blue eyes, and dresses like a horsey-woman (which she is): dark jeans, button-down shirts, good leather boots. She is fiercely independent. She was the one who spanked me when I was out of line, she was the disciplinarian. The one I always had to work hard for, the one who always wanted to see the best out of me. She threw me into sports, she made me challenge myself. She wasn't always quick with the hugs, she was more of a "pick yourself up and do it again" kind of person. She was always honest with me, no matter how much I didn't want to hear it. But the few times that I've briefly seen the silly, giggly side of her that sends me letters with stickers, it absolutely yanks at my heartstrings.

They seem like opposites in so many ways. Yet I can't imagine two people more perfect for each other and more in love. They've been married for 36 years.

These are the people who have molded me, who have shaped me into the person that I am. I have my mother's exact speaking voice, but I have my father's tall, boyish build. I have my mother's impatience, controlling nature and insecurities, but I have my father's naughty humour and romantic side. I have Tato's dark hair and eyes, but Mamo's face structure. I exist only because these two people met quite randomly, decided to get married 2 months later, and then decided to have me a few years after that. That's the only reason I get to be on this planet. That's mind blowing.

Please don't go, don't ever go, I thought to myself as the car pulled away to take them to the airport. I waved them off, smiling, but I was slowly realising that my 30-something years on this planet have gone by much too quickly. I can't understand how that happens. I feel like after 3 days in the UK, they were only here for 3 minutes.

I think there's a "click" that happens in your thirties, when you stop thinking of your parents as these immortal, omniscient creatures, and start realising that they're just these two people that tried their best to help you out. Two people, a couple, with a life that has an end point, just like you and I (depending what religion you believe). And thinking about them like that makes me realise how much I've always needed them, how much I've always looked for their advice and their hugs and their kisses. I've been lucky every single day of my life. I hope I tell them that enough.

We tend to say "oh, I hope I'll never be like my parents...", and I will still have moments of saying that. But sometimes I can't stand that they're getting older, because, selfishly, I'll always want them around and hanging out with me and the mister when we're 60. It seems like yesterday I remember Mamo being 44, and in the blink of an eye, we're celebrating an age where they should be grandparents soon.

I guess what I'm saying is that no matter how tough I pretend to be, and no matter how much I tell myself to not pay attention to it, I miss them so much sometimes it's a physical pain in my heart. It's indulgently sweet and acidic at the same time. It's as if a tiny part of me doesn't live in this country, it lives with them. I still feel like their little girl, their baby. And I know I'll always feel like that.

Seconds before they jumped in the taxi, Tato grabbed me in a tight hug, held me back from him to look at my face, and then pulled me tight again, saying "oh, my sweet girl, sometimes all I need is a hug."

I know. Me too.

I love you.