Dear Diary,
Tonight I found myself at Mums flat, the door swinging open as my husband Tom and I barged in. It felt like a scene replayed from years ago. Mum had been battling a serious illnessstage two of a dreadful cancer.
Shed finished a round of chemotherapy, then radiotherapy. The disease was in remission, her hair had begun to sprout again, yet the calm was only temporary; her health slipped once more.
Eleanor, Tom, good evening, come in, Mum said, looking as pale and thin as a schoolgirl.
My dears, have a seat, Dad, William, added, a hint of confusion in his voice. We have an unusual request for you both, so listen carefully.
Tom and I sank onto the sofa, eyes fixed on Mum. My sister, Margaret, sighed and glanced at our father, as if seeking reassurance.
Eleanor, Tom, dont be surprised, but I have a rather odd favour to ask, Mum began, her tone wavering. Wed like you to adopt a boy for us, please. Were not getting younger, and there are other reasons as well.
A hush fell over the room. My sister was the first to break it.
Mum, I think youll be shocked, but weve been meaning to tell you this for a while, she said. Tom and I have always wanted a son, yet we already have two granddaughtersyour beloved Lucy and Rose.
Theres no guarantee the next child will be a boy, but it isnt just about that. Mums health is failing. Shes had a Caesarean before; the doctors say another pregnancy would be risky. Weve even thought about adopting a little boy from a childrens home, giving him a warm family.
And now you say the same thing to us, Mum. Where do these thoughts come from?
My dear Eleanor, I dont even know where to start, Mum whispered, running a hand over the patch of hair that was slowly growing back. My condition has worsened again.
Just then my old friend Aunt Nancy dropped by, the one from my previous job. You remember her? She once had a mole hanging over her eye that almost blinded her. Doctors warned it might turn malignant. Yet now the mole is gone, and she looks radiant.
Shed been visiting Grandma Zinn in the countryside, and we all decided to follow. People from other towns come to her for help; shes a cornerstone of the community. I thought, what am I missing? So we drove to Grandma Zinns.
Tom and I listened to Mums story, breath held, but we werent quite sure where it was leading.
So, children, Mum continued, Grandma Zinn asked me a strange question: do I have a son?
When she heard I only have one daughter, Eleanor, and two cherished granddaughters, Lucy and Rose, Grandma Zinn pressed furtherwhat about a son?
I was stunned. No one but William and I knew Id suffered a lateterm miscarriage. A baby boy was supposed to be our first child, our little heir, but he didnt survive.
What now? I asked, eyes wide.
Just as Grandma Zinn suggestedadopt a boy, Mum said, tears spilling as if I were to blame for not saving a son, for not keeping that firstborn.
Now I must give another child warmth and love, to restore a balance that was torn.
And you know what? I truly want this. William and I can offer a child everything he needscare, affection, a stable home. It isnt about healing myself; its a conscious wish to spare a little life from orphanhood and loneliness. Do you understand?
Mum, I hear you and I fully support you, I said, my own tears flowing. Lets do it.
Wed already spoken to the childrens home about adopting a boy and were invited to meet the youngsters.
Mum and William, of course, joined us. In the playroom, children three and older scrambled over a carpet.
Look, Mum, that blond boy looks just like you, watching his tower carefully, I whispered, pointing to a small lad stacking blocks, his tongue poking out in concentration.
Mum smiled, but from a corner a voice murmured indistinctly.
She turnedthere, in the corner, a slightly older boy with sad eyes whispered something barely audible.
Did you say something, love? Speak up a bit, I cant hear you, Mum asked.
The boy stepped forward and repeated, Auntie, please take me, I promise you wont regret it. Take me
We completed the paperwork swiftly and adopted the boy, naming him Michael. Lucy and Rose were over the moon to have a little brother.
Michael settled in quickly, calling Tom and me Mum and Dad. He spent many afternoons with Grandma Margaret and Grandpa William, whose house was just a short walk from his new school.
He started calling Margaret Mum Margaret, a habit that made her smile, as if she were his own mother. She stared at Michael, feeling as though he were the son shed never held.
Following doctors advice, I began a new round of treatment, but it did little to halt the decline.
Michael looked into my eyes, his short hair ruffling as he ran his hand over it.
Mum Margaret, why are you ill? I want you to get better!
I dont know, Michael dear, but Ill try my best, I replied, grateful for his affectionate nickname.
William spoke with the surgeon about the operation.
What are the chances? he asked.
The surgeon was blunt: Fiftyfifty, but well do everything we can, and that will give her the best shot.
William and I decided to go ahead.
The day of the operation was nervewracking. Tom kept ringing my fathers phone. William arranged for the surgeon to keep us posted, and William was on edge.
At one point he could not locate Michael. He found the boy in our bedroom, curled up by my robe, sobbing quietly.
Dont go, Mum Margaret, I dont want to lose you again, Michael whispered, Please stay with me forever, Mum.
The phone rang, startling both William and Michael.
The doctors voice was weary, tinged with dread, and William felt his heart drop.
Is it over? Did she not survive the surgery?
William, this is Dr. Harris. The operation was tough, but she pulled through. Your wife made it.
She was on a razors edge, but she survivedsomething Ive never witnessed before, as if a guardian angel had steadied her when her life seemed about to snap.
Thank you, thank you, doctor! William embraced Michael.
You see, everythings alright now. Mum Margaret is alive, alive! How blessed we are that youre still with us, little one.
I whispered, I heard you praying for Mum Margaret, thank you, my dear son.
