I barely remember her. Just flashes of warmth and softness and a voice that made me feel safe. A hand stroking my hair when I couldn’t sleep. A laugh that sounded like music. The smell of her perfume when she hugged me goodbye on the last morning I ever saw her conscious.
I have one clear memory that has stayed with me all these years. She was sitting on my bed, tucking me in, and she said:
“Nathan, no matter what happens, remember that you are loved. You are wanted. You are exactly who you are supposed to be.”
I clung to those words for the next fourteen years. They were all I had of her.
After she died, my father fell apart. He stopped going to work for three months. He stopped eating regular meals. He stopped looking at me, because I had her eyes and her smile, and seeing me was like being stabbed in the heart every single day.
