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Writer's pictureAnonymous Contributor

Your Stories: Pamalar

Updated: May 29, 2020

I have 3 children all evenly spaced out and all extremely unique. So each experience as they have grown has changed and will continue to, but as their mum, my want, desire and selfishly my need to hold each one, has not changed and probably never will.


When they were small my arms were always full. Sheltering, loving, supporting and fun arms. These days those arms are still where they have always been.... attached to my heart that is full of love for them. But these arms are not needed as much and they ache. They are lonely at times, like my heart.


The teenage boy very close to being a man hasn’t needed or wanted to be held, let alone anything else, in so many years. This began the start of the ache. The extremely rare, and I mean once a year if that, I get a hug (that I of course have almost begged for) I hold with all of me and my love and being mindful not to hold too long or too tight so he doesn’t think I’m nuts. His holding embrace is one of almost sufferance, to get it over as quick as possible. He longs for different arms to hold, to support, to love, to be fun. This crumbles my heart and soul inside...but I just smile, make a joke and move on. As this is my experience on this, his take would be completely different and rightly so.


The next teen is a beautiful soul, my owl. The holding is much less, although still there, but her needs are changing while mine remain and I crumble that bit more.


I have one almost teen left that has been my joy; she’s a hugger, with love and laughter and light. I hold her knowing my time and my arms will grow cold and slack. Time is almost run out. I accept and I understand, they change and grow. There are many arms and hearts for them to hold and to be held by. Just not me as before.


They love me, there is no doubt. I see that in their eyes and in their smile, but the arms like the extension of my heart, are longing to be fulfilled again. This is all so different to how I was brought up. There was no holding from my mum except to appease her guilt after each hit. My granny taught me the love of the hold in her arms. My only haven in rare bursts. She has long passed but I know and feel her holding me still.

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