A Journey Back to Life

I havent set foot in my sons flat for ages. Not by choice, not by chance. The tears had long run dry. Grief had settled into a dull, relentless ache that lingered like a shadow.

My boy, Sam, was twentyeight, always healthy, never complained. Hed finished university, held a steady job, hit the gym, and was dating a girl. Two months ago he went to bed and never woke up.

I divorced Tom when Sam was six, I was thirty then. The marriage fell apart over his repeated infidelities. He vanished, stopped paying maintenance, and left Sam to grow up without a father. My parents helped us out. I dated a few men over the years, but never took the plunge again.

I worked hard and earned a living. At first I rented a tiny space in a supermarket to run a little optical shop. Im an ophthalmologist by training. After a while I secured a loan, bought a proper premises, and turned it into a respectable Optics centre that also housed my consulting room. I saw patients, fitted glasses, and built a modest business.

Last year we bought Sam a onebedroom flat on the same block where I live. We gave it a light refurbishment. It was ready for him to move in, ready for a life.

One dusty afternoon, while I was wiping the floor, I shuffled the sofa aside and a phone fell out from behind it. It was Sams. I plugged it in to charge, hoping to feel a bit of his presence.

Sitting on the sofa, eyes brimming, I scrolled through his pictures: Sam at work, on holiday with friends, smiling with his girlfriend. I opened WhatsApp and at the top of the chat list was a message from an old university mate, Dean. It carried a photo of a young woman with a little boy. The child looked uncannily like Sam.

Remember the New Years party at Lenas when we were still at university? She had a friend who lives opposite. I ran into that friends kidwhat a spitting image of Sam! Thought youd like a pic, the text read, sent a week before the tragedy. So Sam knew about this boy and never mentioned it to me. Thats the whole story.

Dean lived just a street away, I knew where he stayed. The next day, after work, I drove to his house. The moment I saw the boy, I recognized him instantlyhow could I not see my own blood? He was chasing a neighbours kid on a bike, pleading for a ride.

I bent down and asked, You got a bike?

He shook his head.

His mother, barely twentytwo, appeared. Her makeup was loud and clashed with her pretty face.

What are you doing here? she asked.

I think Im his grandmother, I replied, halfjoking, halfserious.

And Im Mia, his mum, she said, extending a hand.

I took them to a nearby cafe. Little Eddie thats what the boys name was got an icecream, and I ordered a coffee for myself.

Mia told me shed come from a small village in the North about six years ago, aged seventeen, to train as a seamstress. Over the Christmas break, her university friend Lena invited her over. Lenas parents were away visiting relatives, and Lenas friend Dean was visiting for the holidays. Dean came with his friend Sam to celebrate. That night, Mia and Sam got together. Sam left his phone, promising to call, but never did.

When Mia realised she was pregnant, she rang Sam herself. He answered, angry, telling her that respectable women should take responsibility for contraception. He handed over some cash for an abortion and begged her to disappear from his life forever. She never saw him again.

Mia dropped out of her course, was forced out of the college dorm with her child, and couldnt return to the villageher mother had long since passed, and her father and brother were both heavy drinkers. She now rents a small room from an elderly widow, looking after the child while she works. She hands over almost all she earns, and the local nursery has a waiting list. Mia works in a private dumpling factory, modestly paid, but it keeps a roof over their heads.

The following day I moved them into Sams flat. That marked the start of a completely new chapter for me.

Eddie was placed in a respectable private nursery. I suddenly found myself buying clothes for both Mia and my grandson, and I delighted in spoiling the little boy. He mirrored Sam in every wayeyes, gestures, even the stubborn streak.

I took on a sort of mentorship role for Mia, teaching her how to apply makeup properly, how to dress well, how to keep a tidy home, how to cook, and everything else a young woman might need.

One evening we were all on the couch watching TV when Eddie snuggled up to me, wrapped his arm around my shoulder and whispered, Youre my favourite, Grandma. In that instant I realized the hollow that had lived in my heart for years was finally filling up. Grief no longer sat on me like a stone. I felt I had returned to a life that still held room for joy, all thanks to that little lad.

Two years later we were seeing Eddie off to his first day of primary school. Mia now works for me, her righthand person, indispensable. Shes dating a decent bloke whos looking for something serious, and I have no objectionslife goes on.

It seems I might be heading toward marriage myself. An old, trusted friend keeps nudging me toward it. Why not? At fiftyfour Im still attractive, independent, with a good figure and a gentle temperament. Life, after all, is still worth living.