A letter to… My lost parents
Dear Mam and Dad,
Every year, on 14 February, Grandma Lally and Grandad Robin took me to the toy shop. Let me pick out anything I wanted. An exciting treat for a little girl.
Yet the annual tradition was tinged with sadness, because it was actually their way of cheering me up.
Because, Mam and Dad, that day was the anniversary of your deaths.
I was only 17-months old when I became an orphan, after you both died in the horrific fire at the Stardust nightclub in Dublin, in 1981.
Grandad and Grandma took me in.
I adored them, they took great care of me for you.
In fact, it was Grandma’s doting, loving nature that made me want to become a mother myself.
Especially after I Iost her, aged 71, to a heart attack, just days after my 21st birthday.
I was inconsolable. Sadly, Grandad, 73, died from cancer in
July 2003.
So, a few months on, in December, when a friend fell ill, I offered to help look after her little boy Craig, 17 months.
He was such a sweet boy. Over the next few months, I found myself loving him as though he was my own.
So, when he needed a foster family in April 2004, me and my partner John, then 56, jumped at the chance to give him a home.
Just like my grandparents had done for me.
I channelled my grief even more into being a good mum.
In 2010, I had my daughter Frankie, followed by Lennon in March 2014. Craig loved being a big brother.
Sadly, my relationship with John ended, but we remained friends in order to co-parent the kids.
And we couldn’t be more proud of them. You would’ve been, too. I picture you spoiling them rotten.
All I can do is imagine, though – I don’t even have memories of you.
And with Grandma and Grandad gone, I have no one left to paint a picture of what you were like.
I’ve no photos, either. A family friend created one for me.
Found a snap of you both, and edited me, aged 1, into it. I treasure it.
It helps me imagine what our life together would’ve been like.
I still don’t know why you and 46 other young people died that night.
You’d gone to a Valentine’s disco, a well-earnt night off from looking after me.
Forty years on, and no one knows what caused the fire – a fresh inquest is due later this year.
Perhaps we’ll finally get some answers, justice.
Craig, now 18, is a hairdresser, and often says how grateful he is that John and I fostered him.
But I’m the lucky one. I’ve learnt you don’t always have to give birth to a child to be their mother.
I like to think I’ve followed in Grandma’s footsteps.
She did you proud, I hope that, now, I’m doing the same.
I picture you spoiling my kids, but all I can do is imagine
Love, Lisa xx