I used to work as a shop assistant in London. One day, an elderly woman came into the shop, did her shopping, and then stood there looking a bit lost. I realised straight away she wouldnt be able to carry all those bags home.
How far do you live from here? I asked.
Three streets away, she replied.
Let me help you, I said, closing up the shop and sacrificing my lunch break to walk with her.
She turned out to be a wonderfully kind and friendly lady. Her name was Margaret. She was 78, and lived all by herself. Her son had died of cancer young, and her daughter had fallen in with a bad crowd and hadnt spoken to her in years. From that day on, Margaret and I became friends.
I often visited her after work. Wed have tea and chat about life, and Id help out around her flat. I offered her a bit of comfort when she needed it, and she became something of a grandmother to me.
One day, I couldnt reach her on the phone, so I walked round to her house. I knocked and knocked. Finally, I heard a womans voiceit was her neighbour.
Are you Emily? Margarets friend?
Yes… I replied.
Shes passed away. She asked me to give you this card when they took her to hospital.
I slipped the letter into my pocket, too upset to read it then and there. I later told my husband what had happened and together, we opened the letter.
Dear Emily, You are the only pillar of support I have left. Youre the only one I could ever ask for a favour. I have a granddaughter. My daughter lost her parental rights and the girl was put in care. I used to visit her every weekend. If its not too much, would you mind visiting her from time to time? Heres their number please, call, something awaits you there…
I dialled the number and made an appointment to visit. My husband came with me. To my surprise, the man greeting us at the office was a solicitor. There, we learned that Margaret had left me her flat in her will.
The next day, we went to visit the girl together. She was a ten-year-old with bright red hair and a gentle disposition. We took an instant liking to her and decided to foster, then adopt her. Our own children were delighted to welcome a new sister.
Three years passed. My husband and I had a serious row, and he moved in with his mother. But over time, we worked things out and reconciled.
Margarets granddaughter grew up, but she didnt want to rush into living in her grandmothers old flat. We started renting it out for some extra income. My children were in no hurry to move out either.
One evening, my husband came home late from work. I heard the door and went to greet him. He wasnt alonehe was holding a young boys hand.
I can explain, he said quietly.
Well eat first, then get the children to bed. After that, we can talk, I replied.
It was when I was staying with my mother, he began once the house was quiet. I made a mistake. I was drunk. I only ever loved you, Emily, butwell, two days after Id sobered up, Id forgotten about it. Today, social services called. It turns out this woman had a sonmy son. She never told anyone. But she lost her parental rights due to neglect, and now theyve found me. If we dont take him in, hell end up in care. If you want to, we can say noId understand.
But of course, I couldnt let that little boy go into care. He looked just like my husband. So I forgave him, and welcomed the child as my own.
And so we carry on with our life, our household filled with childreneach one there not just by blood, but by the choices we made out of kindness, compassion, and understanding. Sometimes family isnt given, but chosen, and through helping others, we might just find our greatest happiness.
