bad at comforting

I held my mother as she cried today. I sat next to her on the couch and reached my arms all around, expecting her to brush me away as usual. She didn't, and in those moments her body felt so much smaller than mine. The numbness which I had been cloaking myself with against the all day attacks suddenly cracked. As it slipped away I felt a raw anger pointed at our attacker--the source of mom's tears.
I leaned in and squeezed tighter the harder she sobbed, the more she apologized for what she could've, should've, would've done to put an end to all this. For a second I let myself imagine that I was transferring my numbness, that perhaps in exchange for her pain I could loan her some of my indifference. But in this equation, it was only the misery that had been multiplied.

I've always felt unskilled when it comes to providing comfort in times of grief; I freeze, I get awkward. I either cant't say the right thing or say too much. That in turn makes me feel more guilty. But no matter what, there are few worse feelings than watching your mother fall apart and knowing there's nothing you can do to stop it.