All My Mothers

by Joanna Glen

Some days heaven touches earth. And do we notice it at the time? Or do we know it later – when heaven is snatched away?

We only appreciate what we have when it's gone

It’s so easy to say why, and so much better to say why not.

But love is supposed to be a watering hole, where you come and go by choice, and leave refreshed. That’s what I’m aiming for, anyhow.

‘You don’t get over death,’ I said. ‘You swallow it inside you. And your grief forms a layer of you. Because that’s what we are, layer on layer of experience, like your dad used to explain history, do you remember?’

But love wasn’t only found in blood-mothers, that’s what I’d realised. Love wasn’t only found in romance with men,

But no matter how many days you have, it’s never enough. Life is never enough for us. That’s the great tragedy of being human.’