The second thing you know is absence. Sometimes your mother... disappears. The change is stark, and though she is present far more often than she is absent, you know not of time and when she is gone it is an absence as profound and infinite as her presence. This second thing is your first loneliness, perhaps, or your first freedom.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Is her absence cold? Is it refreshing? Do you feel adrift or anchored? Do you wish for her back or are you surprised when she returns? As you grow, minute by minute flowing through you, do you recognize the signs of her imminent absence? Do you decry them or do you wish for them?... do you suggest them?