Our song

When I was carrying you, I listened to music. The pounding of your palpitating heart against my stomach shook me. Songs of delight flowed through my veins. My heart and mind were intoxicated by the rhythms of your life. A new life, a new strength, a new standard.

I had no idea about babies. They were like some distant and alien race to me. Brought out to be fed at appropriate times, then quietly led away.

When pregnant, the pulsating music of my breath as I tried to inhale and exhale at the same time led to panic attacks. I couldn't wait to have you. I couldn't wait to push you out and have you near me- part of me yet different.

They were playing our song again. This took me back to a place where I had long since forgotten. The coolness in the air surrounded my body, and I felt ready to jump. At what I didn't know. All I knew was that I eager to be a mother. Eager to copy all the joys and pitfalls of motherhood that life would sling at me. I had been trained for this role all my life, and I was going to fulfil it.

I felt incredible whilst carrying you. I had been to the gym beforehand and was even going during pregnancy. I was non-stop. People offered their help and kindnesses, but it was my mother and brothers who really pulled me through. They were like a large canopy that collected all my problems and inadequacies and gently laid them to rest at the altar of forgiveness. I was still in a state of shock. You had taken your toll on me and I was ready to give birth. I suppose I could have held everything in and kept silent, but that was not my way. Everyone had to know.

I still felt a wave of sadness from time to time. As if, no matter how hard I tried, things just got worse and worse. The uphill battle, the unseen goal, the long journey towards purity had begun. How I longed to remove the shackles of existence from myself. It was as if the whole world stood against you. The music helped. Like a bed of bath time, I sank into it's watery crevices hoping to stay afloat and not drown. Thank goodness I could swim.

You grew, like a clenched fist pushed into the air, you grew. There was trouble ahead and we knew it. Our song would crystallise the moment, make me want to dance the dance of desire, until I could dance no more.

The silence was the worst. I longed to hear the echoes of voices guiding me, telling me what to do, but I was on my own. There was support, but being mule headed I didn't take it until it was too late.

We just about made it, through the skin of our teeth. Together with the radio on playing our song, we kept on moving.

I'd had my doubts, but my love of life kept me going. By clinging to the corridors of correction and discipline, I'd made it. Just. However you are never out of the woods, and how those woods had become overgrown. The disruptions caused by the chaos of chance, chased me half- mad through these woods. How I longed for a clearing. A quiet place, where I could rest my soul. But motherhood gives you no rest, and even if you do not physically give birth, you are still mother in some shape or form.

I once spoke to a relative about how she missed not having someone to go home to. There are not guarantees. Some children stay. Some children flee. Dear Lord, have mercy on me.

The radio, radiated music again, and I was in its clasp. Sweet songs of remembrance, ran through my mind and I felt liberated again. Like a prisoner, that had just been freed, I was happy for the moment, before the onslaught. Always before the onslaught.

I vowed never to be pregnant again that once was enough, and it was. However at the same time I longed to play even further in the game of charades that is life. What if? What if I had had more? Why didn't I have more? The physical constraints of my body were showing more now. Not only was I more tired, but I was also slowing down. The punishment that I had taken myself through was not yet over. The mission had to be accomplished.

Songs of faithfulness, hymns of redemption echoed through my veins. I was tied to the rhythm forever. It's chords and discords fluttered in and out of my mind like troubled butterflies. How I longed to rest and lie in the arms of its poetry. To open my soul to its whereabouts and to simply fly on its line of love. I had to be super-positive to exist, to simply breathe, I had to be full of forgiveness. How hard it was, so hard.

I remember your tiny hand in mine, clasped out of forgetfulness- knowing that I would be there to watch over you, no matter what I said. That even despite the quarrels and resentment, we would work towards better times. This hoop of hope, would enclose and deliver us at the same time. As if working for and against us, our ties, our links, could never self destruct. They were embedded in the sands of time, made all the more heavier when the water of tears were added. In the deepest sense you needed me and I needed you.

The circles of songs carried our tune. We remembered to forget, and packed up our troubles. Good food and fortune is what we sought, and along with the sorry, we got it.

When I looked into your eyes I could see the stress being caused, but you hid it so well. I didn't want you to survive, I wanted you to live. Like all chaos, there was order within to be found. We had anchored each other until you found a new mooring, then you were gone to another's arms. This not a love story- it's a life story, and whilst mine is coming to an end, yours has just begun.