My mother passed away when I was just eight years old. Father took to drinking, and our cupboards were often bare. I found myself begging at school, struggling academically, always wearing worn-out clotheseventually, people began to notice.
The child welfare officers from the council visited our home several times, and soon my father was placed under strict conditions. If he failed to meet them, his custody of me would have been revoked. Thankfully, Father came to his senses, put the bottle away, and the follow-up inspections went without trouble.
Not long after, Father told me he wanted me to meet a woman he was fond of. We visited Mrs. Marys house. I was hesitantit was difficult to accept someone new, with memories of my mother still so raw. I didn’t entirely approve of Fathers intention to spend time with Mrs. Mary.
Yet, as we spoke, I felt a gentle warmth from her. I became friends with her son, Peter, who was a year older than me, and together we began attending cricket practice at the local sports club. Father was delighted at how well things were going. Within a month, we moved into Mrs. Marys house, letting our old flat to tenants for a bit of extra money.
Father never got the chance to marry Mrs. Marytragically, he was struck and killed by a car driven by a drunken motorist. Legally, Mrs. Mary and I had no connection, so the authorities sent me to the local orphanage. When I left her home, Mrs. Mary promised she would find a way to bring me back as soon as she could.
She kept her word. Within two months, I was back at her house. Those months in the orphanage were enough for me to understand its dreariness. I was deeply thankful to Mrs. Mary for not forsaking me, for being a true second mother. When I called her Mum, Id see tears gleaming in her eyes. Mrs. Mary is a remarkable woman, and her son, Peter, is a real brother to me.
Now, years later, we are adults with families of our own. Yet Mother Mary remains the closest person to Peter and me. As a mother-in-law twice over, she has never quarrelled with her daughters-in-law, nor have they ever called her mother-in-law. Both my wife and Peters wife address her as Mother Mary, thanks to her kindness and compassion. Whenever I hear her so warmly called, I see joy shining in Marys eyes, just as I did all those years ago.
