Wednesday, 14 July 2010
A Mother's Love
We just want our kids to be happy.
Tonight, I held my little 6 year old as she sobbed with that hiccupy-style crying that you just can't seem to stop. She had dropped and broken a precious object on the kitchen floor - much to her daddy's fury - and he had yelled at her.
The 'Apple of Dad's Eye' crown doesn't often slip, so she flew upstairs, howling - broken-hearted.
After a while, she crept downstairs to find her mum, and buried her head into my chest. She was sorry, she was very, very sorry, and she needed me to cuddle away the tears.
Of course I could. Within minutes, the hiccups stopped, and she was fine again.
At the hospital today, after my zapping treatment, I went to visit my old PE teacher. She's not too good at the moment. After-effects from the stroke are giving her excruciating pain down one side, and they are trying to control the pain in hospital. She's been there for a couple of days.
She's in her own room, and when I got there she was fast asleep. Her mum was with her.
When my teacher opened her eyes, she saw me, and as she slowly recognised me, we had a good bit of smiling and laughing. She can't speak, so she couldn't ask me why the hell I was wearing a Buff scarf with a cricket cap on top. Instead, I carefully showed her all the little bits and pieces that my 6 year old had made for her. They were in a little shoe box with her name written on it.
She dozed off again, and minutes later, she woke up suddenly, her face twisted with pain. Her 84 year old mum jumped up, and held her 54 year old daughter - she desperately wanted to make her feel better.
She couldn't - and it was heartbreaking.
'It should be me there,' she whispered, stroking her daughter's hair, 'not her.'
We'll do anything for our kids to be happy.
I came away from the hospital in tears, of course. I passed the nurses on my way out - chatting about flights from Newcastle, and what they were having for tea tonight.
'There's a mother in cubicle 13 who can't make her daughter feel better!' I wanted to shout. 'Why the hell are you talking about holidays to Magaluf? Why don't you care?!'
Instead, I walked the hundred miles of corridors to my car and drove home. I looked through all the sports day photos again. That's all I could think of to do to help make me feel better.
I can't explain this one. I can't make sense of this one. I can't think of anything wise or clever to say...I just had write about it.