July 1981
My darlings,
There is no easy way to say goodbye – not after our hello. What a day that was, your matching pink faces blinking up at me like two old souls come to guide me through our adventures together, for I was so young when I had you. And thank goodness for that! We snatched six precious years that ought not to have been ours, and we made them dance, didn’t we?
It was all so clear to me in that very first instant: you are why my heart beats and my eyes open, why my skin breathes and my spirit soars. You are my heart, my soul, my love, my life. I have rejoiced in every moment with you – not just the wondrous look on your faces on Christmas morning, but the little miracles too: how the freckles on your noses flower like daisies on summer days and how your bodies turn gasps into laughter as I give you cowbites on your ribs – never forget those, by the way, even when you’re all grown-up. They make everybody smile.
What else will I miss? The smell of your heads – I would bottle it and wear it like perfume if I could. Heaven scent, I always called you, and I was right. I’ll miss the feeling of your ‘loving hands’ in mine; I’ll miss the three of us sleeping in our bed together, all messy and noisy like hibernating bears and no one there to tell us off when we sleep late. Please make sure you sleep enough. It’s so important. And brush your teeth twice every day. And eat fruit.
There are also, I suppose, lots of things that aren’t important, even though grown-ups say they are – things like not wearing your shoes on the carpet, or eating all your broccoli. It doesn’t matter if you never grow to like courgette. I didn’t start eating quiche till last year and it didn’t do me any harm – at least I don’t think it’s the reason I’m writing this letter. (Oh dear, bad joke.)
Just try to be open to new things; I think that’s the message to get across. Life is big and noisy and exciting and colourful, but sometimes it also feels scary and you have to be brave. Even when people let you down and break your heart – and sadly, they will – just keep going, and never give up. You will recover. I made you strong.
It had been my Big Plan that we would all go round the world together when you were bigger, maybe ten? I would take you out of school (I know, cool mummy!) and teach you myself. I wanted us to travel through Asia and South America, but I don’t think Aunty Lisa’s going to be able to do that with Uncle Martin’s job. So just travel as soon as you’re big enough and explore the world.
By the way, your grey eyes are rare – did you know that? You get them from your daddy. When Queen Elizabeth I ruled England, grey eyes were considered the very height of beauty. It’s why I gave you your name, Lillibet. As the oldest, it went to you. As for my Laura, you were supposed to be Flora, for I saw all the colour and life of the gardens in your face, but it was a letter too far from your sister and I wanted you both to be as close as shadows, so Lillibet and Laura you are, my Elizabethan beauties.
I know you will be sad for a while, maybe for a long time, but try to laugh at least once every day. And sing – you’ll be amazed how much better it makes you feel. Being happy won’t mean that you’ve forgotten me, or that you love me any less. It’s what I want for you, more than anything.
I know you’ll get through this, because you have each other. Ever since the doctors told me the news, I’ve been so grateful that I made two of you; I thought it was so that you’d always have a playmate, but now I think it must have been God’s way of making sure you wouldn’t ever be alone. As long as you have each other, you will be all right. Be kind to one another; share, and try not to fight. Aunty Lisa will try her best to make it better for you, so let her.
When I was your age, I wanted so badly to be a twin or a princess or a fairy. They’re not what I’m going to get to be, but even though you won’t be able to hear me or see me, I’ll do everything I can for you to feel me. I’ll be the butterfly in your tummy when you get nervous before Sports Day; I’ll be the shiver running up your skin when you climb out of the swimming pool; I’ll be the giggle in your throat when you want to laugh at Mr Benton’s moustache in Sunday school. And one day, when you are really old ladies – much, much older than I am now – we will be together again in heaven. I will be right by the gates waiting for you, my darlings, just like I do at school. Until then, I will be an angel on your shoulders, loving you.
Mummy xxxxx