One night I lay on my hospital bed, hugging my pillow tight. I felt a pain, an agony which it seemed could only be eased by something, someone, outside of me. There was no strength left to hold onto within.
I WANTED MY MUM.
I realised it in an agonizing, searing moment of truth, something I had never admitted before. I wanted her, to
HUG ME
HOLD ME
COMFORT ME
TELL ME IT WAS GOING TO BE ALL
RIGHT.
I wanted her to be gentle with me. To forgive me for failing her.
But of course I could not call. And when I did speak to her, I could not tell her how much I needed her close. After all, I was not a child any more. I could not give way to such childish desires. My mother was someone to protect, not someone to confide in.
The pain remained. I could never be a child.