Timothy’s arrival surprised the world. Nobody seemed ready for him. Yet here he is, demanding food, attention, care with loud cries. His mother, Emily… Emily fled. Weakened, just two days after giving birth, she stumbled out of the Surrey maternity ward. Vanished, feeling no bond to the tiny scrap of life she’d carried, unwilling to shoulder the responsibility. She’s only nineteen. Her grandmother, her one close person, died last year. Then came a boyfriend who promised much but vanished. Everyone abandons her! Her parents died in a car crash when she was little. Even her beloved Nan left her recently… Her dad grew up in care; her mother had sisters, but they live in Italy with their own families, no contact for years.
A messy history, full of arguments, anger, pointless disputes… None of it interested Emily until Nan got really ill and was hospitalised. Then, family stories were the last thing on her mind.
This year, she was supposed to finish her college course. Her classmates are writing final projects now. And her? Well, it’ll be alright. She’ll manage somehow, but alone! A baby is hard. Almost impossible. Life’s hard enough as it is. Why can’t they see that? So she left her little one, hoping someone would step in. Like they did for her dad, years ago. People keep visiting the ward, talking, but who are they? What do they want? Best ignore them… When her strength returns, she’ll figure things out.
But Timothy doesn’t need a mother later. He needs her now, this instant! To press his cheek to her warmth, to nurse, to feel her heartbeat…
There’s no mother’s warmth. It’s frightening and lonely. He wails, wanting his mum. But only different hands, strange hands, ever lift him. They feed him milk, but it’s not mum’s milk, so his tiny tummy constantly aches and cramps. His sleep is restless, waiting… Even through uneasy slumber, he’d recognise her voice. But the voices are all unfamiliar.
Little Timmy was good at waiting. He waited for her hands, the warmth of her body, the taste of her milk. Perhaps he even prayed with his whole being, with every tiny snuffle from his button nose, to his infant gods.
And the gods listened. The head consultant at the ward, a kind-hearted woman, didn’t judge the young mother, but she couldn’t bear the thought of this sweet little angel being left alone. She used every contact she had. She discovered everything about Emily, found the address of Emily’s grandad and Timmy’s great-grandfather in far-off Italy, contacted him, and had a long video call. She told him about his lost, lonely granddaughter with no one to help her in the world, and about the tiny boy, barely started in life, yet seemingly unwanted.
Grandad couldn’t make the long journey himself. But Emily’s aunts, her mother’s sisters, came. They found Emily unwell at home. Her breasts were painfully inflamed, burning; her milk wouldn’t express. Running a fever, she barely grasped what was happening, who these people were or what they wanted. The GP on the out-of-hours visit arranged her return to the maternity ward. There, nurses gently but firmly, ignoring her tears and protests, expressed the last milk, lowered her temperature, and brought Timothy to her. He gazed at her intently with wide eyes, wrinkled his nose, and made little faces. Did she recognise her son? Of course, she did. She took him into her arms. She wouldn’t let go again.
Later, discharged from the ward, two very chatty aunts drove Emily and her son home. Somehow, a cot materialised there. A chest of drawers filled with tiny sleepsuits and nappies… The aunts talked with her, fed her familiar baked beans on toast, their version of comfort food. What they called things hardly mattered. What mattered was she wasn’t alone. What mattered was having someone ask:
“Feeling alright? Had anything to eat? Drink? Get some rest. You were up ages with Timmy last night. Fancy a cuppa? Milk helps your milk supply. Need a kip?”
You might think this is a story about the boy, Timothy, or his young, overwhelmed mum? Oh no. It isn’t. truly. This is a story about the head consultant and all the kind-hearted souls who didn’t just do their jobs, but went that little bit further. And that ‘little bit further’ saves lives, brings families together, and brings happiness. That little bit of extra effort meant the world for young Timmy and his mum. Could you imagine how much brighter the world would be if we all did that little bit extra, went beyond the bare minimum? If we didn’t walk past someone in need? Just that little bit makes all the difference.
And So It Happens…
