The Baby Laundry for Unmarried Mothers

by Angela Patrick

We are still feeling our way. In truth, perhaps we always will be. But James was right. Whatever happens, our blood tie can never be broken.

  To My Son

  It was an ordinary envelope dropped on the mat

  Along with various others.

  An ordinary envelope, a change from a bill,

  I read it through twice as my heart stood still.

  This may be the chance that the son I had lost,

  The son I surrendered at such a great cost,

  Was searching for me.

  An ordinary envelope dropped on the mat

  Along with various others

  But this one was different from all of the rest

  For here were results of my son and his quest.

  A son who is happy, healthy and mine

  So precious to me despite passing of time

  And now will I see?

  An ordinary envelope dropped on the mat

  Along with various others

  Evoked such painful memories which can sometimes be untrue,

  Yet I still see it all so clearly, that short time I had with you.

  Those tiny hands and fingernails, my sadness at your tears,

  Frozen in time, we two, for over thirty years.

  Waiting still to see.

  The ordinary envelope dropped on the mat

  Along with various others,

  Made the bitter tears I shed turn to tears of joy.

  Tears of simple gratitude for now that this boy

  Whose memory had forever invaded my day,

  Was now finally going to be on his way

  To see me.

  An ordinary envelope dropped on the mat

  Along with various others

  Brought forth a meeting of body, heart and mind,

  Answering questions; what would we find?

  The past revealed and time’s dark shadow lightened,

  Our hearts united and the bond of love heightened.

  My thoughts are free.

  An ordinary envelope dropped on the mat

  Along with various others,

  Had us both rejoicing with discovery of each other.

  Chilling similarities of two people, son and mother.

  Questions answered, searching over, a time to build began;

  A whole new world lay before us, to hold on to if we can.

  You and me.

  That ordinary envelope dropped on the mat

  Along with various others,

  Did not give a warning of vast voids there were to fill;

  Of perilously moving fast or simply standing still.

  Then chinks of disenchantment began to filter through

  And this very special union was no longer strong and true.

  The unspoken human frailties quickly rose above the surface

  And this tenuous relationship had somehow lost its purpose.

  Not to be.

  No ordinary envelope dropped on the mat

  Along with various others.

  An unacknowledged birthday was proof that dreams I’d shared,

  Of always being in your life and knowing that you cared,

  Would never now materialise and make my life complete.

  Instead just painful memories and regrets so bittersweet.

  I know the pain that is in me now will never go away,

  It’s unrelenting, worsening, with every wasted day.

  Will it ever be?

  Since that ordinary envelope dropped on the mat

  Along with various others,

  I know I must learn to give thanks for you and not for what might have been.

  To accept that your love is conditional and to let my feelings go unseen.

  Now, as I reflect on past mistakes that led to only sadness,

  I hope for a new beginning and the return of former gladness.

  Perhaps with time and understanding we could have a bright tomorrow

  So that memories that I have of you will not always mirror sorrow.

  If it can be.

  That ordinary envelope dropped on the mat

  Along with various others,

  Answered my prayers after thirty years, my hopes were then fulfilled.

  At last not just a memory after all that time instilled.

  But the years they pass so quickly and hopes so wildly grow,

  Hope must spring eternal, though now halted in its flow.

  For where once there was hope now only sadness fills my soul.

  Where dreams and plans are made now lies a gaping hole.

  What is to be.

  This ordinary envelope dropped on the mat

  Along with various others,

  Attempts to show that I am vulnerable as I tiptoe in the past,

  Where shards of forgotten memories are shrapnel to my heart.

  So whenever I tread clumsily don’t assume it’s just my way,

  For you have the power to shatter and cast my fragments away.

  These words are so inadequate and do not fully now convey

  The profundity of feeling in the things I cannot say.

  Acknowledgements

  First and foremost, a massive thank you to my daughter Katharine, whose idea this book was, and for her encouragement and enthusiasm.

  Grateful thanks to Ben Mason for having faith in my story and for his valued guidance.

  Thank you to Lynne Barrett-Lee for converting my ramblings into the written word.

  Thank you to Kerri Sharp and her colleagues at Simon & Schuster for all their help and advice.

  Last but by no means least, huge thanks to my husband Michael for his constant and unqualified support.