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Like any mum, I fear some mysterious illness befalling my children.

Being ill like this combines shock - this time I will die - with a pain and agony that are unfamiliar, that wrench me out of myself.

Nothing prepared me for the loss of my mother. Even knowing that she would die did not prepare me.

People wonder aloud about whether I am an okay mother. That is obviously painful because it's so important to me. It's hard to hear that people think I'm not a capable mother and a good person, that they just think I'm nuts.

Here's a thing about the death of your mother, or anyone else you love: You can't anticipate how you'll feel afterward. People will tell you; a few may be close to right, none exactly right.

I had no idea that mothering my own child would be so healing to my own sadness from my childhood.

I always feel, as a mother does, that I protect her. Who will do that when I'm gone?

So much illness is self-induced - which I can't stand. And I'm not a good nursemaid. Don't call me if you're ill.

I don't hide my feelings, but when it comes to illness, I guess I don't panic. My father was the same way. I'm the provider for the family and the caretaker. If I panic, who is anybody going to run to?

I suffer from a genetic flaw, which is that my mother was a hopeless Pollyanna.