Mother tells me how wonderful I was as a child.
“When I would have panic attacks,” she says,
“You would hold my hand and tell me everything would be all right.
You were incredibly calm,
non-judgmental, you said all the right things.”

“I’d run a bath for you,” I recall,
gazing into the hazy mists of long ago.
“Yes! When I was shivering, you knew warmth would help.
Your father was of no use.”
“He was already gone,” I add, “out of the house for years.”
“But you were so helpful,” she continues,
“You would make hot-water/milk/tea,
and just talk me through it.”

She looks at me carefully.
“You were my savior, then.”
“Yeah,” I go on, “Like unto a god, right?”
She laughs. “Always gotta spoil it, Berger Child, don’t you?”
I grin a little, “Maybe.”