Mother can now hear me shivering. She rubs her hands over mine. So soft and warm they feel leaving a motherly touch not only over my hands but all over me. Behind that constant rubbing feels her urge to calm me down sitting on that cot in the middle of night over our terrace.
"What's wrong, will you tell me?", I can feel how much she needs to know the roots of such behaviour. Like my lying in bed, eyes closed but body movements frequently showing the restlessness off for what seemed like hours and then waking up all of a sudden in the dark, going up to the terrace. Something that made her come along when I left. "Nothing, I feel terrible!", I say, shivering. For some strange reason, the freezing atmosphere outside feels more familiar than the closed bedroom.
"You have to take it as it comes, honey. Whatever it is inside hurting you, you have to let it come out.", Hearing her speaking, still shivering, I remove her hands from her thighs. From the place where my head can fit perfectly. I lay my head down on them. Her sari, a cloth that is now bearing my sobs. "Things happen. We can never know why. If there's a life, it is this way." she adds, now-knowing that there really is something wrong. With her daughter. Her daughter that never really played with teddy bears back then in childhood. The one about whom the only sad thing is, according to her, that there are very few who understand her and not only figure her out.
I sob. A little more, knowing I have the warmth and the shelter I need, at least for tonight. She wants me to let everything come out realizing a fact that I won't do it fully. To let myself break down, just right now, only once but completely so that I'll soon stand up confidently and won't fall apart again. Her love, something I feel lucky to be capable of understanding. I shed tears, not freely. But reservedly, in the idea of what its like to break down.