The Greatest Gift

Coffee Break Tale

Jo

It always takes so long to find the right card. It’s never easy to find words that have just the right meaning for someone like her. They have to be perfect but even perfect is not good enough. Words are never quite enough.

This one is one of those big puffy ones that barely fit on the mantlepiece. I didn’t really want to get one so ostentatious but, going back to the words, it was the only card that said the right thing.

I post the card then walk back to the car and head towards school, ready to pick up Charlotte from her after-school club. She has already sent her own card, posted on the way to ballet on Monday. “Hi, sweetheart. Good day?”

She looks the part in her gym kit, even if a bit gangly.

“OK,” Charlotte shrugs, as she does every day, and I smile. It’s an ongoing joke among us mums. OK is all we ever get by way of conversation after school.

I watch as she skips ahead of me, despite being ten and almost ready for secondary. The years have torn by, like an Exocet missile, trailing our memories of life, love and laughter in their wake.

I think of the card I just posted and wipe the dampness from my eyes. Perhaps I’m the luckiest woman in this playground. I may have lost Adrian but my daughter lights up my world.

Kate

The letterbox clatters. “Mummy! Post!” Georgie’s voice squeaks down the hall and her footsteps clatter on the tiles. I’m still incredulous at how far she has come in four years. Each one of my children has been a miracle all over again.

“Here you are, Mummy!”

Georgie hands me an envelope and I smile. It’s Mothering Sunday this weekend. I know at once what this is. She never forgets and I know that, on Saturday, I will receive an huge bouquet of roses. She is the kindest, most wonderful, thoughtful, woman. She’s a perfect mother to Charlotte and, in many ways, she’s made me a better mother to mine.

I thank Georgie for fetching the post and put the card on the shelf in the kitchen, where it will sit until Pete passes it to me on Sunday. I think how lucky I am to have him and how much harder it would be to do this mothering lark alone. Yet I know Jo made the right choice.

As I prepare the bolognese sauce, I think about the day Charlotte was born and how it could have been the hardest day of my life. So many nights had been sleepless as I’d lain awake, fearful I’d fail to fulfil my promise. Yet, on the day, it was easier than I’d ever imagined. Jo had been with me throughout the labour. When, finally, Charlotte had joined us, she’d linked us inextricably. The moment I handed her over, there was no doubt I had done the right thing.

Jo’s husband had died three years earlier, and endometriosis had stolen her womb. Thankfully, forethought had seen Adrian’s sperm frozen before all hope had been removed. She’d been a teacher at school when my eldest, Daniel, was in Year 1, and I’d watched her with the children, then got to know her as a friend. Her longing for a baby broke my heart.

I look at the envelope on the shelf and know what’s in the card. It sits next to Charlotte’s and both will be brimming with thanks. I don’t see Jo and Charlotte anymore because that was our agreement. She moved closer to her parents and we missed each other so much, at first. But we got used to it and agreed it was for the best. Jo includes a photo inside her card every time. Last year, Charlotte was wearing a tutu. No doubt, one day, Daniel, Andrew, Georgie and Charlotte will meet.

I love getting the cards, yet no thanks are needed. I’m grateful to have been able to give Jo these Mothering Sundays, and Charlotte the best mother a child could be blessed with. Her daughter has grown up knowing about us – after all, honesty is the best policy – and our house is open if, one day, Charlotte wishes to visit. Until then, the contact is always one way.

“Guys! Dinner!” I call as I serve up the food. Daniel is on his PS4 and I have to shout three times. Georgie is in like a shot and Andrew was already washing his hands. Pete comes in last, plants a kiss on my cheek, sits down with the kids, and I smile. In their own ways, they’re all very much like him and I thank God I could give Jo a part of her husband, living within her precious daughter. I wish them the best Sunday they could possibly have.

In truth, I think to myself, glancing around the table, being a mother is a privilege… something we should surely celebrate every day.