Do you hear the voice of a savior within you in difficult times?

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When I think about what has happened in the last few days, I feel like I'm in a movie that will be shown soon at the cinema club. Sounds, frames, little flashbacks cascading…

“…Are you her mother?”… “Can you hear me honey, I am here” …”Do not sleep!”… “Look at me please…”… “What is your name?”… “Do you have a brother, what is his name?”… “Don't sleep! ”… “Look towards me please mom, not far…”

Hearing what's going on, possible risks from the doctor's coldness, hearing "I'm not saying it's possible, I'm saying it's possible, go to a better hospital", just to hear it at that moment… "He said... he said... he also said..." "Actually, he just said, change the hospital, Ok."

“Don't sleep, please look at me dear”… “Where is the ambulance?”… “Don't sleep, we're going honey”… “Shall we play your favorite song for the last time? I beg you to sleep…”

To open the windshield of the ambulance until the end, to catch someone who would try not to give way and to hold them by the collar... I am sure that my arm will reach all the way to the road...

Fortunately, everyone on the road is human, giving way to us, for all the ambulances I gave way, I never feel better again...

Phones, doctors, people…

Our emotional sway with my son, whom we learned from falling on his head while playing in the garden at his school and having a fractured skull.

It is within me that I meet with the woman I have met in a few difficult times before. A huge stone statue that comes out from seven floors under the ground only in times of need and without ever asking me… The one that says, “You move out, I'm in charge”. It consists of a strange acumen, rigid… The one who lifts me up and puts me aside softly with everything I've been through.

Finally, the next day, my dear classmates and the sweetest teacher came from my dear classmates and the world's sweetest teacher, with the notes "Get well soon, we missed you so much" stitched on the colorful papers.

Finally being able to say “I was hurt a lot, yes” with relief… Because it burned.

My son is fine now, we are all recovering. We are grateful that every moment is better than the last. Still, we have some unknowns, our companions along the way.

I know that if disaster strikes me again, I can't cry again, my strange assistant will come out from under the ground, he will take the helm without asking me, he will take us somewhere. This is my weird way of coping.

I wouldn't have been able to cry that day if those children hadn't had their papers. If I hadn't been able to cry, maybe I wouldn't have been able to hug so well, or my words would have turned into a curse, my silence, or I would have banged my head against the walls. If I couldn't cry...

When I'm hurt, it hurts, a lot. When it hurts so much, it hurts a lot. Painful parts do not go anywhere unless they are seen with compassion. If they are not seen, they turn into something else to be seen again. Nothing is lost without being seen.

My admiration for her is to my daughter who can cry by saying "I'm sorry" and to my son who runs away when he is afraid...

Hug someone who is hurting, even if they can't say it, hug them. Hug him so that he can find a place to cry in your arms, whenever he wants. Let it meet its fire, it's the look. Don't be fooled by his saying "it didn't hurt", hug him. Hold the space to its comfort, let it curl, fill, overflow, pass through when it is ready.

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