You're back again, talking to me. I never hear what you say and I never give you any indication that I'm even alive, but every day, here you are, talking to me despite it all. I can't see and I can't hear, but I can feel you. When you put your face close to mine as you talk to me, I can feel the vibrations of your speech, that's how I know you're talking.
Your hands are warm and soothing, somehow you know that despite my death calm, I'm reeling inside, as you touch my arm. And I feel it. I feel everything now, while I can't see or hear or even really think, but your presence stays with me. Over and over, for I don't know how long, I keep reliving the same things over and over. Pain. Nothing but pain. Pain I caused and pain I felt and pain as I see the bright points of my existence, people who had some care for me, and know that they're dead.
Except when you stay with me. When I feel your touch the broken memories go silent and all I feel is you. You try to wake me. No, you don't try like the others, wanting me to wake up, to get back to work. You just talk to me and wait for me to return. Some times I want to wake up, just to see you, to see your smile, because I think it must be the most incredible sight in heaven. But I can't yet. I'm not ready to. I'm not sure why I'm like this and I don't know when I'll wake. I just know that it won't be now.
You wait so patiently. You're the only one who I ever feel near me. No one else, for what must have been years, maybe centuries. Only you come back again and again and talk to me, care for me.
Sometimes I think that you're my mother. But I know you're not. My mother wouldn't come. She hates everything I am. I never knew her, though she didn't die or leave. She just refused to acknowledge me. She refused to be in the same room with me. I heard her say once that she could never have given birth to such a freak. And so I know you're not my mother.
But I think you are anyway. I think you're my real mother. That other woman carried me and birthed me, but you're my real mother. You're lots of people's mother, I think. You don't have any children, and all the children are yours. I want to wake up for you and be yours and make you proud of me. But not yet. It's still not time. I hope I'll meet you soon, Mother.