“What do you remember from your childhood?” I couldn’t really remember much, or should I say recalling anything from so long ago became a tedious task. So much impactful drama had pierced my life beyond my childhood; it was hard to recall anything. There was an uneasy silence, and I looked up at the blue eyes and ginger hair. “It was fine,” I whispered. “You can tell me anything, about school, where you grew up, your parents even.” Her voice was somber with a hint of urgency to get me to talk.

I didn’t want to talk; there seemed no point. I was forced into therapy, and when you are forced into anything, the unwillingness to move forward outweighs the need. I looked around the room to avoid further eye contact. My eyes were fixed on a mother-and-child sculpture. It was the only piece of art in the entire room. The bond between the two figures was evident in the loving embrace. The protecting figure, a maternal silhouette, instantly reminded me of my mother.

I don’t remember events per se, but I remember how something or someone made me feel. When I was a little girl, once in a while, my mother would let me sleep with her. These nights were few and far between; when I didn’t have to fight with my siblings for her attention. My father sometimes worked the night shift, and she would sleep alone. We would fight for his space. It wasn’t until this moment that I realized why.

I remember vividly the warmth of her body, the scent of her skin, and the feeling of being loved, as if nothing could harm me. Being held tightly makes you want to never let go. It releases you from some force that you never knew was holding you in place. Her one hug allowed me to be emotionally vulnerable. It’s a silent trust and a blind comfort offered by another being who has taken on the task to protect you.

Being loved is a human need we never outgrow. We don’t think we need it. When we grow up, we don’t allow ourselves to be vulnerable enough, because we believe that it’s a sign of weakness. Wanting to be wanted is not a sign of weakness at all; it shows you are human. Being in someone’s presence and feeling secure can sometimes be incomprehensible, because there are no words to explain how one feels in someone’s arms.

The sculpture made me think of my youth, all the years I spent with family, going on trips, celebrating birthdays and Christmases. All the places we had visited and all the fun things we did. I don’t remember anything so vividly as I did sleeping next to my mother. My mother never really told me she loved me until I left home. She didn’t have to, I suppose; that one memory showed me how much love overflowed from her heart. I left home and lived without this trusted protection. Over the years, I forgot how much I needed that embrace. Life made me tough and strong. I had family, a partner, and friends, but I never felt the safety I did lying next to my mother.

The maternal embrace cannot be replicated. Once those arms gathered around me, the calmness in her breath, the weight of her body, the strength of her heartbeat, somehow made everything okay. It was that beat that would coax me into slumber. A sleep that immersed me in peace. When you feel that secure, your body gets to float in another dimension. Just like it did in the womb. It becomes shielded. Peace is priceless; you cannot put a price on the feeling of an embrace that is full of unconditional love.

A tear filled my eye, and I looked away from the figurine. “All I ever wanted was to be loved, like my mother loved me.” More tears followed. We sat in silence; she watched as if waiting for an interval, while I wiped away the decades of hurt. There were no words to explain why I feel the way I do. “I lost my mother a long time ago. From a young age, I lost the love that felt the safest, and no one has ever been able to replace that void.” I stood up and headed to the door. “We still have time to talk.” She responded. I paused and looked back at the professional that was supposed to help me fix my so-called issues. “You can’t fix something that was never broken; you cannot replace something that is lost,” I said. “Just like it’s impossible to bring back the dead.”