home from home

We all need a home from home. For roughly a decade of my life, mine was a cosy, sunny, happy house in Surrey.

My friend Claire and I met when we were ten years old and our families were on holiday at the same place. It took us about twenty minutes to become best friends for life. As we lived at opposite ends of the country, we had to set to work on the parents to make sure that we got together, either at my home or at hers, as often as possible, and Claire's house became my second home. As far as I was concerned, if ever I ended up with a critical shortage of parents, I'd just go to Claire's and they'd adopt me. (They weren't consulted. I knew it would be OK.)

Yesterday I sat in a beautiful, light, sunny church as we said our final farewells to Claire's father, Yorkshireman, lawyer, deacon, and quiet hero. I learned a lot about him that I hadn't known, especially about his work with people in need and distress. In my earlier years, it was enough to know that he and Claire's mum made a home where I always felt welcome, happy, secure, cared for - one of the family, in fact. What they gave me is immeasurable.

Yesterday, I told Claire's mum that I'd intended them to adopt me. A few minutes later, holding my hand, she introduced me to someone as 'my adopted daughter', and my heart turned over. I feel so privileged. Thank you.

At some point, I introduced myself to someone as Claire's long term partner in crime. Her second son, my godson, announced dramatically, 'so many years - so many crimes!'