My Mother's Gift

Church bells ring in the distance; the noise oddly comforting. I had never been one for religion – I’d taken after my father in that sense. My mother, however, was a firm believer until the end of her life. Her final wishes insisted on her funeral being as full of religious love as possible. Last week I fulfilled her wish.

People give you their condolences when you lose a loved one; sadly, I’ve learnt the hard way that you truly do not understand the pain until it happens to yourself, and yet, the pain of her loss continues.

Walking into my small home, I pull the black tie from my neck. A hot drink – that’s what’s needed before diving into this.

Dropping the little black notebook onto the kitchen counter, my attention on the kettle. While I hadn’t expected much as a beneficiary in my mother’s will – my father inherited everything – the black book was not what I had expected to obtain. Throwing the teabag into the bin, my mother's light-hearted criticism on my tea making skills cross my mind. Where’s the colour? It’s an albino tea!

What I wouldn’t give to hear her say that to me one last time.

Sitting in my living room, resting the tea on the coffee table’s placemat, I’m only capable of holding the black notebook, too cowardly to open the book itself. She had never mentioned it to myself or dad before, a secret gift just for me.

With a shaky breath, my thumb pushed on the snap lock, unlocking the book. Hesitantly, my fingers push the cover open, the front page filled with my mother’s scribbles.

18th May 1980 – My due date is just around the corner; I can’t wait but I’m also so nervous about raising a baby. The pregnancy has been difficult. If I’m not sick, I’m uncomfortable. I hope I don’t fail as a mum; I hope I can give my boy the best opportunities possible.

A diary. It takes a lot to not instantly cry over the pages, a way to remain forever connected to her. Everything she felt like writing since I was born.

31st May 1980 – Well, you were only a few days late, but my sweet boy you are here, and you are perfect. I want to use this little book to write down memories, times together that I hope to never forget, but should that be the case, this book will bring smiles as I remember once again. Let’s start with a fun memory today, shall we? At four hours old, you pooped on your father. I would have laughed for the entire day if it weren’t for the caesarean.

2nd June 1980 – You pooped on me. Your father says we’re even now. He’s laughed until tears streamed from his eyes. I love you both so much.

The entries continued along the same note, actions, and events she felt were too good to risk being forgotten. Such as my fifth birthday, I had lost a tooth and nobody knew where it had gone, until that evening after the party where I apparently handed it over to my dad.

I have never laughed and cried so much in my life, needing several days to get through the book without being a complete emotional wreck. My father had called one afternoon, curious himself as to what it was about. I promised I’d tell him when I finished with it – for now, this was our secret.

All my awards were jotted down, each teacher praise and even my first detention. Somehow, she had managed to turn something so frowned upon into an uplifting memory.

The memories from my teenage years were the most emotional. She had written down my first date, the day I confided in her about my first kiss – how to know it was love you felt.

23rd June 2010 – My sweet darling, you’re marrying the love of your life today. I couldn’t be more proud of you and your love. I know you insisted you didn’t need a gift from us, but there is something I have been working on along side this book for you. After I have written this entry, I’ll be gluing a few pages together to store something safe for you. The page after will give you some more information on it, but promise me, you won’t go further than that page until you’ve followed the instructions.

Turning the page, I couldn’t think of what she could have possibly added to the book – I certainly hadn’t expected a key.

It was small, silver. Something I can’t ever recall seeing when I was younger. I was tempted to call dad and ask, but all I needed to do was move the glued pages over.

A security box key.

My phone was unlocked, the address typed into the search bar before I could think. It didn’t take long to find the building, the added benefit that it wasn’t that far. Looking to the time in the top right corner of the phone, 3:48 pm. It was a Thursday, the only potential traffic being the school rush.

Grabbing the keys, I scribbled down a note for my husband, telling him I’d be back soon. I expect to be back before he finishes work, but there’s never any harm in leaving a note.

What should have been a twenty-minute drive ended up being thirty-five minutes. It could be taken as a nuisance, but considering we hope to adopt one day, I can only get used to it now.

Before I knew it, I was out of the car and in the building, awkwardly standing within the doorway. Not once did I take a moment to truly look at the building from the outside, or even consider what would be said when here. It was just a key being held by a nervous wreck.

A kind woman assisted me through everything, helping me find the exact box which my mother had kept hidden for so long. She had quietly made her leave, allowing me to open the box in private.

The shaking in my legs had slowly increased, the anticipation leaving me a silent mess. The woman who loved her mystery stories had given me a little black notebook containing a hidden key, if she can see me – wherever she could be – I’m certain she’d be loving every moment.

Slotting the key into the lock, one last breath was taken before turning the metal to the right, the lock lifting the lid slightly. Raising the lid, my eyes peered into the box, confused by the contents.

Reaching in, the folded piece of paper now safely between my fingers, I dumbly check the now-empty box again. Seeing there was still nothing else, I opened the paper.

A premium bonds website with a username and password. A scribbled note underneath reading, you’re good to read the next page now, sweetheart.

Pulling the notebook from my pocket, I moved to the unread page.

Undated – Darling, I have been adding spare money to this whenever I could. The contents are yours and for you to do whatever you wish with. I love you so very much, and nothing makes me prouder than to be your mother. Have fun and enjoy life.

Fresh tears streamed down my face. Leaning against the wall I allow my legs to give way beneath me, dropping me to the floor. It doesn’t matter how much is in the bonds, this book has given me more than any amount of money ever could.

My legs aren’t ready to move – not yet – but the note calls to me, I have to see the amount. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I inputted the information. A sob breaking from my throat at the number on the account.

$20,000.

Home. We could finally look into a bigger home. No more renting, a good deposit for a forever home – a place for our future family.

It was that moment that I promised myself, the first opportunity I would buy my own notebook, perhaps black to match hers, I’ll fill it with all our memories, from adoption to bringing our child home to my final breaths. Her inspiration will not be forgotten, our memories will be treasured.

She may have given me one last adventure together, but I’ll be damned if they stop here. That love will live on through myself and our family. Each occasion immortalised in a little black book.