UNTYING;

Our illnesses, our mothers thought to themselves, are a knot with which to tie our children. Even though they're far away they will remain tightly tied to us. How they wished for a child who would find a train, ride through sunflower fields or forests, and show its face at home. 

Our mothers hoped to see a face that showed tightly tied love in cheek or brow. They wished to see the first few wrinkles, signs that our life as grown-ups was harder for us than our childhood had been.

But they forgot that they were no longer permitted to stroke or slap this face. That they could no longer touch it.

Our mothers' illnesses sensed that, for us, untying was a beautiful word.