I am nameless.
I’m not a widow. Nor an orphan.
I feel not of this decade, Victorian maybe? More children dead than alive.
I would make a cracking X Factor back story. Dermot’s voice would go low and serious, the piano would start. Shot of my profile looking anguished.
Shame I can’t sing.
I am a car crash on the side of the road. People slowing down to pass and wonder “how will she survive this?”
I am, as DD quietly told her play therapist, very old, very happy but sometimes sad.
My son shall never become nameless. His physical form may have failed him, but his sweet, pure, lion heart lives on in all of us.
He has endured sixty, not six, years worth of medical intervention.
He made me a mother. He gave me that name. That love that has no edges.
That never fully severed umbilical cord.
He taught me a lifetime of lessons. Of patience, and hope. He taught me to truly open my eyes to the beauty of difference. To lose the fear of imperfection and embrace it.
Unconditional love in the face of multiple conditions.
He told me he loved me without words. Showed us he would get there without walking.
Because of RD I know my heart is a crystal water balloon, fit to burst or break.
Because of him I shall always have a name. Not the mummy, mum or, no doubt, MOTHER!!! you may hear from DD.
I will forever be mumumumumum.