The Palace of Tears Mothers are never ill, they never give up searching for lost things and they never cry. At this moment my mother is doing all three. At least she’s in the right place. Everyone else here is crying too. “Jacqueline, I wanted so much to come home,” she says. “But it isn’t here.” “Mum, it depends what you mean by home.” She keeps shaking her head and clutching my hand. She doesn’t know. This is the Palace of Tears. We have to say goodbye to Ilse here. She can’t come with us. And we can’t turn back. The visit is over. “Mum, we have to keep moving.” My mother led me here. But I must lead her back. Mothers always hum in public, wear old elastic bands round their wrists and speak even when everyone wants them to shut up. But my mother is doing none of these. She isn’t behaving like a mother at all.
