Me? I’m terrified. I don’t talk about it; how terrified I am. Not to anyone. I don’t have that right. People don’t understand. I can’t sit down over a cup of coffee with a girlfriend and begin to explain. There is no common ground to be able to empathise on. It is a very lonely feeling.I wrote this all down for two reasons. Not for pity or understanding. I wrote it so that maybe, somehow, someone reads this and knows that they are not on their own having lived through something similar. I wrote this so that if you see some odd behaviour, rather than disregarding it, you might think back to the story of my children and put a stop to it. Please. Children are so very precious.Secondly, I wrote this to get it off my chest, so that it’s no longer just thoughts that I have to keep to myself. Sharing this with those who choose to read it – that’s not going to make it go away, but it might help me be a better, stronger mother. It might help in some small way, somehow. Writing is therapeutic.Thank you for listening.
