Timothy wasn’t expected by anyone in this world. Yet he arrived. He announced himself with a loud cry, demanding food, attention, care. And his mum? Mum stumbled away, weak, scarcely two days after giving birth. She vanished, direction unknown, feeling no bond with the tiny bundle and refusing the responsibility for his life. She was only nineteen; her nan, her sole close family, had died the year before. Then came a lad full of promises, who also left. Everyone abandoned her! Her mum and dad in a car crash when she was young, and her nan, who loved her dearly, had recently gone too. Her dad was an orphanage boy, and her mum had sisters, but they’d lived in Italy with their grandad for years, completely out of touch.
A messy history filled with grudges, anger, squabbles over things… At first, she didn’t care, then when her nan got desperately ill and went into hospital, it faded entirely against the crisis.
This year she was meant to finish college. Her classmates were writing their dissertations now. And her? Well, whatever. She’d manage on her own, somehow. But alone. A baby? Hard. Very hard! Nearly impossible. And life was already so hard for her, couldn’t they see? So she left her little one. Perhaps someone would help him. Like they helped her dad once. People kept coming in, talking, but who were they, what did they want? Never mind… When she felt a bit stronger, she’d figure out how to carry on.
But Timothy needed his mum not later. He needed her now, this very minute! To press his cheek to her warmth, to taste her milk, to feel the beat of her heart…
No maternal warmth left him frightened and lonely. He cried, wanting his mum. Yet different hands, strange hands, always held him. They fed him milk, but not her milk, so his tiny belly constantly ached and cramped. His sleep was restless, waiting… Surely, even in uneasy slumber, he’d know his mum’s voice. But the voices were all strange.
Little Timothy knew how to wait. He waited for his mum’s hands, the warmth of her body, the taste of her milk, and probably prayed with all his senses, even the soft sniffing of his tiny nose, to whatever gods infants know.
His prayers were heard. The hospital matron, a kind-hearted woman, didn’t condemn the young mother, but neither could she accept that such a sweet little angel was left motherless.
She used every contact she had, uncovered all she could about Timothy’s mum. She found the address of the mum’s grandad and Timothy’s great-grandad in far-off Italy, made contact, and spoke long over video call. She told him about his troubled, lonely young granddaughter, adrift in the world with no help, and about the tiny boy just starting life, yet belonging to no one.
Great-Grandad couldn’t make the journey, but both the mum’s aunts, her sisters, came. Timothy’s poorly mum lay in her flat. Her breasts were painfully inflamed, milk almost impossible to express, fever burning. She struggled to grasp who these people were or what they wanted. The paramedic brought the young mother back to the hospital, where the nurses – gently but firmly, ignoring tears and protests – expressed the remaining milk, reduced her fever, and brought Timothy to her. The baby watched her intently with wide eyes, wrinkling his nose and making little faces. Did she recognize her son? Of course she did. She took him in her arms. This time, she wouldn’t let go.
Later, discharged from the hospital, two loudly chattering aunts drove her and her son home. Back at the flat, a cot had somehow appeared, a chest filled with nappies and tiny baby clothes. The aunts talked with her, fed her familiar macaroni cheese they called pasta. What it was called didn’t matter. What mattered was she wasn’t alone anymore. What mattered was having someone asking:
“How are you feeling? Have you eaten? Drunk? Have more tea with milk; it helps your supply. Perhaps sleep a while? You were up so long with Timothy last night; you must be shattered.”
You might think this is the story of the boy, Timothy, or his young, bewildered mum? Oh no, no. This is the story of the matron and all the compassionate people who didn’t just do their jobs, but did a little bit extra. And that ‘little bit extra’ saves lives, knits destinies back together, and gives happiness. That tiny effort became the happiness of a little child and his young mum. If we all did just that little bit extra beyond our duties, if we never passed by another’s trouble indifferently, imagine how much kinder our world would be!
And This Happens…
