Page 53 of A Miracle on Hope Street
I’m emotional, I’m tired and I don’t know if I have the energy to take this Christmas dinner any further. Then, just as I’m about to jack it all in, Michael phones and the soothing sound of his now-familiar voice is enough to give me that last burst of strength that I needed.
‘Ruth, you have people who need you to host this dinner,’ he says to me. ‘Think of all the people you would be letting down if you pull the plug now.’
I think of young Kelly who will otherwise be sitting at home alone grieving for her daughter on Christmas Day, and dear old Nicholas who took such joy from my invitation and who can’t wait to play some music or just sing a song. I think of Marian, the widower who hasn’t left the house in so long yet is prepared to do so this Christmas Day because of this dinner invitation. I think of Molly who is pretending to the outside world that she is okay when she really isn’t.
‘Do it for all of those people but most of all do it for you,’ says Michael. ‘Do it for young Paul who would have loved to have been with us. In fact, go back to your emails and find someone else who can take a seat at your table in his honour. There’s bound to be someone out there who springs to mind and who deserves not to be lonely this Christmas. Just think about who and it will come. You’ve got this, Ruth. I believe in you and I think it will be the best thing you ever did if you can get it to this final stage.’
‘Bernadette!’ I say to him, not knowing how on earth that name came to me so easily. ‘Bernadette is the one!’
I sit up on the sofa then make my way out of the sitting room and up the stairs to my office, still holding the phone to my ear.
‘Okay. Can I ask who Bernadette is?’
‘She’s a woman from Dublin who wrote to me about two years ago and who wanted to reunite with her family but didn’t know how. I’ve always wondered how things turned out for her because she reminded me so much of how my own mother might feel right now.’
‘Perfect!’
‘You know, I’ve never been able to let her go from my thoughts,’ I say to Michael. ‘Maybe this is a sign from Paul. Her name just came to me. Bernadette is the one. I just hope I can still find a way to get in touch with her. She suffered greatly with her mental health and longed to connect with her children, so I’ll see if things have changed for her at all, and if not, I’ll invite her to dinner. Dublin might be too far away but it’s worth a try, isn’t it?’
‘That’s the spirit,’ Michael says to me. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Go for it, Ruth. Stay strong and go for it. I’m right behind you.’
Michael’s words of reassurance couldn’t have come at a better time, and when I find Bernadette’s email from two years ago after a lot of scrolling and searching through my filed history, I reread her original message and just as it did the first time I read it, her words bring me to tears.
Dear Ruth,
My name is Bernadette, I am a mother of two and I am currently living alone in Dublin.
I’ve been battling for many years with clinical depression, a condition that has cost me so much in life. My home, my marriage, any chance of a career but, most importantly, it has cost me the love of my two children who I think of every second of every day and who have no idea where I am.
As I lay on hospital beds on and off for years, or when I lay in bed at the places where I called home for all this time without them, I wonder every day what things they like to do now, what music they might be listening to, if they have fallen in love yet, if they’ve been broken-hearted yet, if they have friends they love and cherish, how school is going, what exams tripped them up, are they driving yet, are they working part-time in the corner store, what places have they travelled to, what secrets do they keep and most of all I wonder do they have any idea how much I have loved them every step of the way as I try so hard to get strong again and to be the mother I want to be.
I just want to be their mother again.
At long last I’m in a better place in life where instead of every day feeling like winter, I’m beginning to feel the seasons change again and slowly I’m building up the courage to finally try and repair what has been broken and have my family back in my life again.
I need to ask you your valued opinion. Should I reach out and contact them and try and explain what has been going on? Or should I let them live in a world where me and my suffering happens parallel in a world that they have never known?
My heart yearns for them, my arms feel empty without them and my mind never lets their smiling faces out of my head. There is a hole in my heart that will never be filled until I seek their forgiveness and hold them close once again.
But I know that I have so much explaining to do and that I may never get that chance.
I don’t know where to begin, but maybe writing to you might be a good start, a first step in the right direction to heal all of our lives before it’s too late.
What should I do? I trust you to advise me wisely.
Yours sincerely,
Bernadette, Dublin
Chapter Twenty-Three
Two Days before Christmas
‘Good luck today,’ I text Michael who tells me he has been pacing the floors from the early hours of the morning at the thought of meeting the mother of his son for the first time in two years.
Just as I thought he would do, Michael calls me immediately.
‘I’ve a meeting today too,’ I tell him. ‘You’ll never believe this, but Bernadette from Dublin replied and told me that no, she never was reunited with her family, Michael. She was delighted but a bit apprehensive, so I said I’d meet her to reassure her in person, so I’m going to Carlingford this afternoon for a quick coffee and a chat and hopefully that will be enough to make her feel welcome at our table.’
