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  • Having had no frames of reference, I used scenes of tenderness from movies. Scenes that could never have happened for me. Me with mom. Me with dad. Me with mom and dad. You know, the ones where I'm a mess, and mom's hugging me, stroking my hair and saying "It's OK, baby. It's going to be OK." Or where I'm down in a hole, and dad's doing his best to pull me up and he's saying "Don't be afraid, I've got you. You'll be alright."

    I'd turn to movies about loss. Maybe I could relate to Holly in PS I Love You. Gerry's gone. He'd never wanted to go but he was taken. So, he's gone and she's without him. She can't ever get him back. His ashes are in a box on the counter. All she has left are memories, and that deep, deep connection.

    The connection that I don't understand, never had.

    "Because I still wake up every morning and the first thing I want to do is see your face."

    I guess I do understand but I don't, not really. I don't get that I can be the subject of another person's great, deep love, or that someone could be the subject of mine.

    Mom never hugged me. And dad was not there either.

    So whom do I come home to, then? Whom do I wait for? Who comes home to me?
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