Nicolas was waiting outside the school. But obviously his mom was late. From the height of his 7 years, he is authorized to return alone, but he seems to be waiting for his arrival. I then ask him why he does not return. - I'm waiting for Mom. She said she was coming to get me but she's not here yet. Mom has a migraine, that's what she told Dad last night, adds the little one.
A small smile appears on my lips, quite involuntarily. I then thought that I should take note that children have no filter and that I should be more careful about what I say in their presence.
We move a little away from the gate and that's when he tells me:
"Mom, she has migraines. It's not easy when that happens. We mustn't make noise anymore, so with my little sister, we try to whisper. Mom, she goes to the bedroom and Dad takes care of us But that makes him angry. He says that mum does it on purpose and that a headache goes away with medicine. He quickly gets angry because he doesn't like to cook. Margault and I, we know that "We mustn't moan in this case, otherwise he'll punish us. I don't like when mum has migraines, because she sleeps all the time. We can't play with her or cuddle. But yesterday, Margault and I , we crawled into the bedroom and into bed. Mom always smiles, even when she has a migraine. She didn't scold us and we took a nap together, the three of us, with Mom, even though she had the headache. migraine. Margault, she snores. Mom and I, we whispered together. She told me a story from when she was little. It was great to be with her."
I listened patiently as he gave me every particle of his little child's heart.
The suffering of this barely palpable mother who bursts the heart of the adult that I am.
It was then that the mother arrived. She thanks me for watching over her boy. She has a slightly grayish complexion and sunken eyes. I recognize that expression. And these are my memories that came back to my memory. I had forgotten how difficult it was for me to bear my helplessness in the face of the pain of a loved one. I remember that my own mother also suffered from this pernicious disease. She had to stay in bed, and no noise was to be made. Despite that, my father grumbled loudly because she was not available in the house. Sometimes even to the point of preventing her from resting and she got up. I saw his gray face and smelled pain. But she was so strong...
The little boy jumps for joy and runs to his mother. He stops his momentum just before he gets to her level, but she crouches down and greets him with a big smile and a kiss from Mom. I approach to hear him say:
- Do you still have a migraine?
- A very small one... she whispers (she turns her eyes towards me). Thank you for taking care of Nicolas. How nice.
- He told me about your health concerns, I said, determined to cut to the chase.
- Oh, it's nothing too bad, she answers to cut the conversation short.
I just nodded sympathetically.
She smiles politely at me and begins to walk away towards her car, with her son.
- Wait. I know we don't really know each other but I think maybe I can help you with your migraines.
- It will be fine, I assure you.
- I suspect that you have taken many medications and that I am not the first to suggest that you test something, and perhaps even that you are already taking a treatment, but I work at the institute. We are developing a new active ingredient. Nothing miraculous but maybe we will find a treatment to reduce the violence of your migraines and help you overcome them. Can we discuss it? Let's have a coffee and I'll tell you what I'm doing.
Mom agreed…and I added the smell of benevolent relief to my collection of weird stuff!
