I would like you all to celebrate the birthday of my daughter with me, and introduce Stephybabes to her grown-up sister. Today is not a milestone in her life, she is thirty-one today, but each birthday is special to me. She is my only child and lives 200 miles away from me, but is always in my heart. Other parents will know what I mean, and some older children will know too.

I married early at nineteen, I wanted a large family like my parents, there were five of us and I was never alone with my siblings around me.
Although my husband wanted children, I feel we were both too young; my husband wanted to go on partying, while I had to be the responsible one. My pregnancy was not an easy one, my husband became more remote and often stayed out for days on end. My 21st birthday went un-noticed; I was now six months pregnant and could not celebrate.
My baby was due on the fifth of July, but by the 11th showed no signs of arriving, I was taken into hospital and labour was induced.
I was in slow labour for three days; my husband was hardly there, only my mum stayed by my side. At that time, mothers were not allowed in the delivery room and I gave birth at precisely 2o’clock on a rainy July Sunday, with only a nurse to hold my hand.
Although I was exhausted, I had to hold my new daughter in my arms that moment was so very precious, I cannot describe the feelings of love that washed over me. This tiny scrap of humanity, was perfect, she had a lot of dark black hair and weighed in at 7lb 14 ounces.
I was not allowed to hold her for long, I had to be given Morphine for the pain and slept for twenty-four hours.

I had discussed names with my husband, Michael for a boy and Melissa for a girl. When my husband went to register the birth, I added on the middle name of Carys, derived from Carriad, the Welsh word for beloved.
I had to stay in hospital until the 8th of August; Melissa was a sleepy baby, who I tried in vain to breastfeed. Eventually I gave up and fed her with a bottle, then we were allowed home. My marriage was very rocky and I left my home to live with my parents, returning to work when Melissa was 18 months old. My mother looked after her and became a second mum to her.

I was given a council flat, when Melissa was three years old. It was on the second floor of a three-storey block, here was to be the happiest times of my life. On a hillside, it overlooked an area of common ground, about a mile square. This became our playground, in the summer; we spent long happy days joining other single parents, as we watched our children play. The hilly slopes were converted into slides; a piece of cardboard made an ideal Toboggan in the summer. In winter we clubbed together to buy a plastic Toboggan, but also used tin trays to make a slide.
The flats only had coal fires and we used to join the neighbours bringing back fallen branches and logs to start a fire. Melissa would struggle to load branches on to her sledge, to haul back, this was a great adventure.
Our flat had two large picture windows; one opening onto a balcony, being so high up, it caught the sunrise and sunset, our home was full of light.

However happy we were, I longed for a house of our own, where Melissa could have a garden to play in and some pets as well.
Our first house was too large and used up all my money, so I bought the house I live in now.
I moved in on the 21st December 1981, there were no electric and no gas.

The living room was two rooms knocked into one; the only heating was a two bar gas fire.
Melissa stayed with my parents, until I managed to get a new fire fitted and a wall heater in the main bedroom. There was an old fireplace, but it was very smoky, so was rarely used.
Here, on winter nights, Melissa would share my double bed. With mugs of hot cocoa, we would read together and make up adventure stories, finally cuddling up together for warmth.

It took many years and a new mortgage to add central heating, a decent kitchen and a telephone, what a luxury that was.
Money was always a problem, Christmas was a bad time for me, and I could not give my daughter all the things I wanted to.
One Christmas, when she was still quite young, she found me crying , after she had gone to bed, when I told her the reason for my tears, she said, “Don’t cry mummy, I don’t want big presents, I just want you, granchie and nana, we will have a lovely day”. Sounds corny? Sorry, but it’s true. My daughter had a loving heart and knew all about money, she was thoughtful and very observant.
Together we would go to jumble sales to pick up bargain clothes for both of us. This allowed me one good suit for work, mixed with cheap blouses. The money saved, allowed me to buy her a few expensive dresses and shoes every year.
I can still see her, at seven, in a deep red velvet dress, her long black hair tied with red ribbons. She narrated the schools nativity play, standing on a podium in our church, the audience captivated by her solemn dignity and her fearless gaze. In that one moment, with tears flowing freely, I saw a glimpse of the wonderful woman she would become.

Life was not all problems and poverty, I saved up for a car and we went on trips every weekend when I did not have to work. We would pack a picnic and go where the road took us. In summer, we went to the beach, both strong swimmers we used to race each other. Our other favourite place was the forest, at that time; I was reading the Hobbit with her. Deep in the forest, we played out Bilbo’s adventures, pretending to find trolls, goblins and elves.
In the winter we would still visit the sea, playing hide and seek in the sand dunes.
Melissa was a thoughtful, loving child, like me, she collected waifs and strays, many a time our car would be full with her friends, enjoying a trip out.
Our home was full of laughter; I had a family full of her friends.

In school, she was way ahead of her classmates; by ten she had an adult reading age. At one parents day, her teacher asked me how much television she watched, I said, “two to three hours per week”. He was astounded, when asked how she spent her time, I told him that we read books and poetry together; I would supervise her homework and struggled with my rusty French to try to give her a love of languages.

There are so many stories I could tell, but would go on for ages. There is only one from her childhood, I could not miss out.
Christmas Eve was usually spent at my elder sister’s house. Mum taught Melissa and my niece Rebecca, all the old music hall songs, funny ones, like” Daisy,” dressed up, they would both put on a show for the family.
This particular Christmas, I wanted her to join in the mystery and wonder of the Christian faith. A local church was holding a family service, we arrived at 5pm, the main church lights were switched off, only a few lamps made a soft glow. The children were kept back, while the parents found their seats. Each child was given an orange, with a thin candle firmly inside.
To the strains of “Oh come all ye faithful”, a column of children proceeded down the church to the alter, the only light then, coming from their candles. I have never seen or felt something so beautiful before.

In no time at all, Melissa was taking her GCSE’s, she passed all subjects with top grades. At the yearly prize day, my mother and myself proudly watched her as she was presented with prize after prize.
For her A-levels, she studied English, French and History. Her English grades were so good; she applied for a scholarship for Oxford University. Why she was turned down, I will never know, maybe because she came from a single-parent background. Her teachers warned me that the disappointment might affect her grades, but my daughter was made of sterner stuff.
She passed all her A-levels with distinction.

Her next major event was to go to university, she chose Royal Holloway in London. I missed her terribly, sitting on her bed, cuddling a discarded teddy bear.
Like many a new student, she partied a lot, but soon settled down to work, when her grades started to slip. Three years later, she gained a 1st class honours degree in English and also passed a Tefel course, to teach English to foreign children.

How proud I was to attend her graduation, unfortunately, my mother was ill and could not attend, a great pity, as she was such an inspiration to Melissa, teaching her, as she taught all her children, to read and write before they went to school. Thank you mum.
My father had just recovered from a heart attack, but nothing would stop him attending her special day, he was like a father to her.
It was a stifling hot day in July, A Marquee was set up in the grounds for the informal presentation, the true one was held at the Albert Hall in September. My dad had to keep using his angina spray, but somehow managed to enjoy the whole day.
In a fit of extragavence, I bought a magnum of champagne; we enjoyed it with fresh strawberries. Melissa introduced us to all her friends; one young man seemed very fond of her. Both my father and me thought that here was Melissa’s soul mate.
This magic day was to be the last that my father had.

In the holidays, Melissa had a boyfriend in our hometown; together they went to Greece to teach English to Greek students, their contract was for one year. It was too expensive to return for Christmas, but on the 28th December 1994, my father had a massive stroke. He was so ill, I had to phone Melissa, who used up all her money to come home. As soon as dad was stabilised, I implored her to go back to her job, it was what her Granch would have wanted.

She came home again in August 1995, by now, my dad was in a nursing home, and he could not speak, but was overjoyed to see her. How lovingly she cared for him, how generous of her time and spirit. She had a job offer in London to take up as soon as possible, but was loathe to leave her Granch.
She did go to London, and got a good job at British Airways, as a staff trainer. She came home at Christmas 1995, this was to be the last time she saw her Granch. He died peacefully on the 29th February 1996. Trust him to pick a leap year!
A hurried telephone call, and she was home later that day. She supported me at the funeral, when she must have been devastated herself.

Melissa became a business manager for British Airways, we saw a lot of each other over the years and both my mum and me were glad that she eventually started to live with Mark. In 2002, mum came to live with me, Melissa and Mark came down as often as they could afford, sharing their wedding arrangements with us. The wedding was set for June 21st 2003, but mum was very frail now, and had a stroke in October 2002.
During her six-month stay in hospital, I could not join in the preparations for my daughters wedding; my whole time was spent with my mum. The only moments I had to spare, was spent helping Melissa to choose her wedding dress.

Mum died on 27th May 2003. Melissa again dropped everything to come down and support me. After the funeral, she had to go back to London; she had booked two weeks holiday for her wedding and the honeymoon. Before she left, she took me to Monsoon to buy a wedding outfit; I had no heart left to do it for myself. How very glad I was that she helped me to do this.

Going through my mothers photographs, gave me an idea for a special present, although I had given her money towards the wedding, I wanted to do something special. Using a collection of mum’s photographs and some of my own, I made a large family album, starting with my own grandmother, who died when Melissa was a baby, I used photographs to chart each generation. There was my grandmother, my own mother and her sister, pictures of me as a baby, wedding photos of her own father, baby pictures of her, right through to the present day. I left plenty of space to add on Mark’s family and to keep the collection for her own children.

The wedding took place on a hot June day, everything was perfect. As it was a civil ceremony, they both spoke their own vows to each other. Their friends read the poetry of Keats and Yates.
As Melissa’s father felt he should not be the one to give her away, I did this myself. At the reception, I knew I had to make a speech, gulping down some wine, I welcomed Mark to the family, there was something I needed to say, but how would Melissa take it?
Throwing away the speech, I spoke from the heart (and possibly the wine too). I said that two very special people could not be there that day in body, but were there in spirit. Glancing at Melissa, she was silently crying, had I said too much? I should have known my own daughter by now, it was something she needed to believe in and could not say it herself.
In front of the all the guests, she hugged me close and whispered, thank you mum.

This is my wonderful daughter, a beautiful face and soul, she lights up the room with an easy grace. All heads turn to see her, yet she is totally unaware of the effect she has on people. A loving daughter, a warm, caring friend. Her love of her family knows no bounds. Her heart could contain an ocean.
I have sent her a homemade card, she is encouraging me to write, paint, and to be creative.
No matter what problems I have, she never fails me. Inside her card, I have written my own verse, it sums up a little of what she means to me.

You are my daughter and my friend
You mean the world to me
I’m proud of everything you’ve done
And glad I set you free.
Though other mothers like to cling
Keep children by their side
I brought you up to be the best
You fill my heart with pride.
You are the constant in my world
The reason why I live
Your presence fills my heart and soul
With the treasures that you give.
I have no need of photographs
To remember happy days
My mind is full with “snapshots”
Of all the special ways
The times we played together
The laughter and the fun
The imagination that we shared
That startled everyone.
And so, my daughter on this day
However far apart
I wish you happy birthday
From the bottom of my heart.

Thanks for sharing.
Lisa.