For my mother

She is far, far away
Her daughter lies in bed with a sprained ankle,
not so serious.
The mother feels the pain for both of them.

She came once, a long time ago,
and looked from above at her daughter in a hospital bed, fresh out of a coma
(now *that* was serious).
She held her hand and her daughter soaked up the feeling of her mother's hand
over her own.

This daughter has been through hell.
Her mother listens on the phone, each time it hurts.
Her mother suffers as well,
for she is far, far away.

"Mommy", "it hurts".
So, so many times in recent years,
over the phone.

For every physical pain the daughter suffers,
the mother has the equal measure of emotional pain,
for she is far, far away.

"I want my mommy".
It's a primal thing,
not based in reality at all.

The daughter has children of her own.
She kisses every boo-boo,
she lets the tears of her children soak into her shirt.
She cannot endure the palpable sense of helplessness
that a mother suffers
when she has to be far, far away
from her child's pain.

Her daughter's pain.

"I want my mommy".
Each illness,
each surgery,
each knock down.

The mommy? ...she wants her daughter, too.
She wants the tears again to soak into her shirt.
We feel the same.

It's just a sprained ankle.
But I want my mommy.

(Dad, I love you, too, forever, with all my heart... don't feel slighted.)