Pablo Picasso (1881-1973), mother and child, Paris, summer 1907, oil on canvas.
Photo © RMN-Grand Palais (Picasso-Paris National Museum) / René-Gabriel Ojéda
For the past few months, me and my family have gone through a veritable tsunami. A period during which I felt that I was going to lose my son. It was the day after she turned sixteen that the nightmare began. Months of presence day and night, months without more than two to three hours of sleep per 24 hours, months during which I had to put any activity other than looking after my son on stand-by.
For those who know me a little, difficult times I have gone through. How could I have imagined that life still had such an ordeal in store for me! Not knowing if tomorrow my son would still be with us. Is there a harder ordeal for a mom? To feel day after day that he is moving further and further away, no longer having any dialogue, already feeling him elsewhere. A pain that twists your guts, cuts your legs, invades you to the point of losing your head. And then endure, find strength and hope and act accordingly. But falling back to rock bottom when this son's health gets even worse. Getting to regroup anyway. Resilience was needed.
It is in these extreme moments that certain routines by becoming rituals will help us keep our heads above water. During all this period I made it a point of honor to remain this woman and this feminine and elegant mother who have always been the pride and admiration of my children. Not a day I did not make up and dressed. Of course, I went for the simplest and fastest, which didn't prevent me from taking a minimum of care of myself. A discipline which by its ray of sunshine, however small, has helped to keep me and us standing.
And then one day I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. Today my son resumed his schooling and I was suddenly able to get back on track. Life, activity, have taken over, the desire for so long repressed to find you, to be there to guide you to express with confidence your sacred feminine.