Two Mothers, One Heart
My mother, Eleanor, passed when I was but two years old. I knew her only from faded photographs, yet I never forgot her. Still, all my life, I called another woman “Mum”the one who came into our home and stayed forever.
I dont recall the day she arrived. It seemed as though Mum Grace had always been there. Petite, with a soft roundness to her, her eyes dark as coal and a smile that could warm even the dreariest English afternoon.
“Mum Grace,” Id call her.
“Little Gracie,” Dad would say fondly.
No one ever hid the truthshe wasnt my birth mother. But my heart accepted her without question. I believed that when Mum Eleanor left this world, shed asked the Good Lord to send me a guardian. And so He did.
Mum Eleanors sisters and my grandmother often took me to stay with them. Never did they miss a chance to ask, “Does she make your breakfast? Does she hug you? Does she take you for walks?”
I stayed silent. Back then, I didnt have the words to say how much those questions hurt. Now I understandthey wounded my love for Mum Grace. For she loved me no less than if Id been her own.
She never forbade me to remember Mum Eleanor. Instead, shed take my hand and lead me to church. The cool, dim sanctuary welcomed us, candles flickering before the icons. Shed buy twoone for health, the other for remembrance.
“This candle is for you, my dear, that God may grant you health and joy. And this onefor Mum Eleanor, that she may rest in heavenly light.”
Id watch her cross herself and whisper the prayers after her.
“Mum can Mum Eleanor see us?” Id ask softly.
“She can, my love,” shed reply, smoothing my hair. “The soul doesnt die. It lives with the Lord. And when we pray, Mum Eleanor hears and rejoices.”
After the service, wed always request prayers for the departed. As the vicar sang, “Eternal rest grant unto her,” Mum Grace would make the sign of the cross and murmur, “Heavenly peace, dear Eleanor see how we cherish your little Rose.”
Leaving the church, shed smile through tears. “You see, my darling, you have two mothers. One in heaven, the other on earth. But we love you just the same.”
We lived in a village, and everyone knew Mum Grace. She worked as a cook for the harvesters, hurrying to work with quick, light steps.
“Where are you off to in such a rush, Grace?” the neighbours would call.
“To work, of course! Theres much to be done,” shed reply.
She returned just as swiftly. The moment she crossed the threshold, shed seek me out. “Rose, how was your day? Did you eat? Have you finished your lessons?”
And without failwarm embraces, kisses on my forehead, my cheeks, my nose.
“This little nose is my favourite!” shed whisper, pressing a kiss to it.
When she baked scones, she always set aside a small bowl of dough just for me.
“Here, my little helperpractice with this.”
“Will they be tasty?” Id ask, flour dusting my arms up to the elbows.
“Of course! Youve got a golden touch, just like Mum Eleanor.”
Her scones were divineslathered with butter, dotted with herbs And she herself was like fresh breadfragrant, warm, and wholesome.
When I stumbled at my first job, she soothed me with gentle wisdom.
“Mum, I keep making mistakes nothing goes right,” Id lament.
Shed sit beside me, clasping my hands in her warm ones. “Rose, who doesnt err? Mistakes are lessons. Write things down so you remember. I wasnt always skilled in the kitchen eitherI copied every recipe into my book. And look, I learned. So will you. Just dont lose heart.”
When my son was born, Mum Grace stood all night outside the hospital. It was April, the chill of spring biting the air, yet she never left.
“Mum, why did you wait out there in the cold?” I asked later.
She smiled that special, radiant smile of hers. “Where else would I be, my love? I prayed beneath your window, that God might strengthen you and the angels rock your son. Though I couldnt be inside, my heart was there with you both.”
Then one morning, Dad called. “My dear Mum Grace is gone.”
I couldnt believe it. How could such light vanish from the world?
Now, as I turn the pages of an old album, the photographs of Mum Eleanor and Mum Grace intertwine like threads in a tapestry. And I knowGod did not leave me orphaned. One mother He gave me for life, the other for love and faith.
