Cutting the umbilical cord

My friend tells me some form of physical and emotional distance away from them is good for me. She tells me they will one day drive me nuts, transform me into who I am not. It is time to move away. Away from that madness, that endless baggage, away from my little angel who has made my life worthwhile. She tells me, fighting back tears, that she is sorry for me and that she loves me for who I am, but I must move on. I must cut the umbilical cord. soon.

I often wonder if it is possible to change the reasons for happiness in our lives, over a period of time. I often wonder if I would ever be able to not care for her the way I did. the way I do. I wonder, if I let go, if I step back since there does not seem to be any other choice, would she know? Would she know just how much I loved her? Would she know I did everything I could just make her happy?

As a fifteen-year-old, having her in my arms was like having a baby doll that I would never let go of. Then time passed, and life changed forever. We went through losses, we went through breakdowns. My immediate instinct was to protect her. hold her as close as possible, protect her like a mother bird protecting her chicks in a forest. I reached a point where if there was a choice between her life and mine, I would gladly, without even thinking for a second give up mine. Saving her, protecting her and making sure her every dream comes true became a mission, before I even realised.

When the madness would continue, I would in secret make plans to run away with her, run away with my baby. In secret, I would dream of a happy life where she would grow up with me, and we would be together forever. I began to think myself to be a mother. So ten years on, and now I realise that I never gave birth to her, I was never her “mother” by name, nor did she ever know I was, I never did have any right to decide for her, to protect her from everything and to take her away from everything.

Ten years, and on, I was just a silent guardian, trying to win over a heart, trying to protect her innocence and her happiness, working away to ensure her life is perfect. I have now reached a point, where I either cut the chord once and for all, and continue to help her silently or fight to stay close and keep getting hurt, until this madness drives me crazy and I will have no more in me to care.

I look at her, I stare at her through out the very few times i get to see her, and try to understand, try to question if she knows me, if she knows what she means to me. On our last brief meeting, I ask her, ‘What did they tell you? Please don’t believe them, please do know I am here, no matter what.’ Like a grown up, she tries to shift the topic and says, ‘look at your bangles!’. I notice how she refuses to look me in the eye. I ask her one more time, and say, ‘Do you not understand what is going on? Do you not understand they are using you against me?’ and she looks up and says, ‘I feel bad for you,’ and runs away since she is being called.

I cry. I throw my arms up in the air like a helpless child and cry. There is not enough tears I can cry. There is not enough grieving to let go of my grief or my loss. I cry, I shout, I beg for something fair.

I close my eyes. I breathe. I search for some form of comfort, some form of support, something that would make me feel better. that would take away this feeling from inside me. but I realise that the time has come to cut the chord.

It is time to cut the umbilical cord. Yet, I want to hold on, I want to cling on to her, even though I can’t.

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