In 1964, when I was 2, my late mother gave birth to a baby girl who only lived for an hour.  She was taken from her and told nothing.  She went home and entered a world that ignored what had happened to her.  She never knew that her baby had been buried in a common grave but she had to bury her emotions and grief.  Decades later, when she was in the middle stages of Alzheimers, she would cry for the baby who she only got to hold for a few minutes before she was taken away.  I am grateful every day, that unlike my beautiful Mum, I live in a time, where I know whatever I may face in my life, my friends will be with me to laugh, talk, cry and listen.