Since the last session, I'd felt there was some kind of barrier between me and T. Today I realised that the barrier was anger that I hadn't expressed.

I told T that I was angry that therapy had been so painful, and in my heart I blamed her for that. "You left me to cry when I needed you to hug me." We both knew I was speaking metaphorically. She said, "I couldn't hug you because you were always running away from me."

I don't know if I accept this, but my anger was out in the open and I had been heard, so the barrier was dissolved.

Later on I told her, "I'm looking at you with my heart. You are a very beautiful woman." She got all blushing and bashful about that, which is very rare.

We talked about my need to be in control, and for the first time we agreed on a hypothesis that might account for it. For the first few years of my life, my mother adored me and gave me everything I wanted. Then she withdrew and imposed a discipline instead. That left me feeling helpless and unloved, and I have been angry and controlling ever since.

We talked about the Christmas break and her operation next year. I broke it down in three parts:

1. Being parted from her. I expected to upset about this for a week.

2. Her absence for many weeks. I've coped with this before. I told her about the idea I'd seen here, that in T's absence I will reap the rewards of therapy without being under the pressure of doing more therapy.

3. The possibility that she might die. I told her I had a plan for that, and I can face almost anything if I have a plan (control!). My plan was to grieve, and six months later to seek out a male therapist. I said I didn't expect to be welcome at the funeral. "You would be." That was a surprise. My plan was to put a memorial notice in the paper.

TIme's up, but I still had someting left to say.

Me: "In the almost impossible eventuality that you might be dying with no one to hold your hand, call me. I'll be there."

T: "You have a good son in you."

I'd been crying for several minutes, but I would have cried at this anyway. This is about as close as anyone has ever got to saying, "You are a good son." Certainly my mother never said it.

I asked for (and recieved) a hug. We don't usually hug. A long, tearful hug, which broiught us back to the start of the session.

THIS IS HOW I SHOULD HAVE PARTED WITH MY MOTHER.

Sorry, Mum, I didn't know how. You never taught me.