Give me my pain, my blood-curdling scream, and give me a tight grip of my hand and some assuring words, and give me my excruciating pain, rending from the core of my being. Give me my purging, my crowning, the seemingly impossible; give me forced breathing, seething through my teeth, grunts and snorts and spasms; seizing my body, sweating cold, feverishly.
I want what happened to you, what keeps happening to you. Us. Our relationship will go on. I want that needing from need; hope from helplessness and utter dependence. I want to look into new and innocent eyes, listen to new life sleeping and crying and laughing; tend to every need. I want to feed, comfort, cheer. I want to extend the bond and strengthen it and tell stories just like you did. I want to love. Just like you do.
Give me no other mother but you, with your resilient spirit and quiet resolve and beautiful soul. You love, and I love you. I’d like to take back the pain I’ve caused you, but you’ve already used it to turn me into the person I am today. Unique, dorky. You’ve given me life, you heighten the humanity within me. Give me no other mother. Give me only your hugs, your smiles, our memories. One day I will give, too. Just like you do.