They told her they couldn’t allow her to spend the night in the ICU. She insisted.
I wasn’t supposed to have anything. She fed me ice chips to soothe my burning throat.
I tossed. I turned. I cried. I hurt.
I was up all night. They were wrong. I needed her.
When I went home, she showed me the pad where I had scribbled what I needed. The characters looked like hieroglyphics.
I wondered how she had read them.
Only a mother.
*Image courtesy of Sura Nualpradid at FreeDigitalPhotos.net