That night when my son rang me to tell me that he thought he had just seen my letter, my story, on the television, he asked me what colour bottle I had chosen. I had only told him about it the previous year, though I had written the letter seven years before. We rushed to the Internet to see the programme and there it was; my letter – so intimate, so personal – on the screen. I had put my whole heart, my love, my soul, my innards (“mes tripes”) into that letter. It was not only the words that I wrote, for me it was my whole life, my tears, my suffering, all my love and I had cast it forth into the ocean, out into the universe. There was so much of myself in that letter that seeing it on the screen was an enormous shock, a very violent emotion. At the time it was so painful to see it again. I felt violated. I have had to come to terms with the fact that someone was carrying out all these investigations into me, had been looking for me.

We got the book, and there was the letter, in its entirety. I now have three other sons but they were not mentioned. In my draft I had written “the only person in the world (with my other sons) that I was born to love for ever”, but when I copied out the letter I somehow left out ‘my other sons’. I had to explain to them, apologize.

Now, a few weeks later, I’ve recovered equilibrium. I’ve regained my distance, I can smile about it. I can think more calmly, which is why I agreed to meet.

I was always a very attentive mother, very protective. Maurice was eight years older than my next son, so for many years he had been an only child. And the last son was born three years after the accident; he was my saviour. I was nineteen when Maurice was born, and he was my great love. He was my life, I lived through him, we were like accomplices, fused together, we guessed one another’s thoughts even without even speaking. It is true I was not very happily married, so all my love was diverted towards my son. He was very gentle, very sweet, a truly lovely boy.

I clung to Maurice, he was my love. It was something so strong when he died, there were only two possibilities for me, death or madness. And I considered both.

For about a year I couldn’t even embrace the other two children whom I loved above all else, since I was unable to embrace the other son. I was on a kind of razor blade between the dead and the living, torn between the two.