The Letter

Sophie had been driving since the early morning. It was not a morning she had been looking forward to. She could see her mother’s cottage just a few yards away and slowed down to pull into the drive. She sat for a moment, looking at the cottage. The cottage was where she’d been brought up with her brother, Beau. Sophie had left over fifteen years ago in a rage after rowing with her mother and vowing never, ever to return. Sophie let out a heavy sigh, getting out of her car, and before she could knock on the door, her brother Beau opened it.

“Ah, the wonderer has returned to the fold,” Beau said, looking slightly amused.

“Hello, Beau, I see you have not lost your charming self, and I have been back in the UK for over five years now, as it happens.” Sophie was determined not to let her brother wind her up like he usually did.

“I’ve just made coffee, would you like some?” Beau asked, ignoring the comment.

“Yes, that would be nice, it has been a long drive from Suffolk.”

Sophie looked around the room. The photographs were still there in the same place as she remembered. She picked up a picture of her late father, who had passed away over twenty years ago. His passing had greatly upset her; they had been very close.

Her mother’s voice intruded on her thoughts, “You always loved your father more.” Sophie remembered the words very clearly as if it had been yesterday.

“No, I didn’t, it’s just that dad and I had the same interests,” Sophie had answered, indignantly.

“Well, the way I saw it, you and your dad were thick as thieves, and I was not allowed into the club!” her mother had retaliated.

“Look, Dad and I were on the same page, and you were… well, somewhere else on another page!” Sophie had said, in her own defence.

Beau came back with her coffee and sat on the sofa, “I have a letter for you. Apparently, Mum wrote each of us a letter which had to be handed out to us before her funeral.

Sophie looked at the envelope Beau had put on her lap, “Oh, right. I’ll read it later.”

Sophie looked at the envelope, which was addressed to my darling daughter Sophie.

“What time is the funeral? You never actually said, Sophie asked.

“We have a couple of hours yet,” Beau said. If you don’t mind, I’m going to my old room to rest up for half an hour; your old room is ready for you.” With that, Beau made his way upstairs, and Sophie followed not long after. She sat at the dressing table and looked into the mirror; it did not really seem that long ago she’d sat there as a young teenager, but so much had happened since then. She looked at the letter and knew she had to open it, even though she was hesitant to take the plunge and read it.

The letter began with the same words on the envelope… My darling Sophie, I wish I could be saying this to you rather than writing it in a letter that will be my last before I make my way towards heaven’s doorway and back to your father. It seems very strange saying that, but my time is running out here on earth.

I wanted to first bring back the memory of you and me together when you were a child. Do you remember how we would look after the roses? You loved putting on those gardening gloves I bought you, and your pink wellies, you thought you were all grown up, even though you were only nine years old. I used to love watching you being so careful doing the weeding around the roots of the roses, and chatting away. Then, as you got older, you were able to use the secateurs to cut off the dead heads, etc. Your favourite rose was the ‘blue moon,’ you tended that more than the others. They were precious days and wonderful memories, along with many others, but this memory always stuck in my mind.

I’m sorry about the argument we had; it really was my selfishness coming out. I just didn’t want you to leave because I felt I would be lost. Then, I became a bitter lady, and I’m ashamed to say I never read any of the letters you sent me, but I still kept them, and eventually I did read them, and I cried buckets. But your last letter had been well over six months ago, and when I found out my health was in a bit of a pickle, I did not want to get in touch in case you thought I just wanted your sympathy and to get you to come back. Beau was good, and he looked after me. He did tell me I should have written to you, but I told him not to let you know; I did not want you to worry.

Please forgive me, Sophie and know that I always loved you and always will, wherever I am. Have a wonderful life, darling, and please keep in touch with your brother; he has promised me he will look after you. The letter ended with… loving you always, Mum xxxx

Sophie's tears ran down her cheeks, her voice quivered as she said out loud, “I will love you too, Mum, always.”

The funeral was not such a sad affair because Sophie’s mother had requested that everyone wear bright and cheerful colours, and to enjoy a get-together after, without tears and sadness. Beau had arranged for a local pub to put on a buffet and for some very light music, just enough to play in the background to take the rawness off the occasion. It all went as planned, and both Sophie and Beau were exhausted by the end of the late afternoon.

“Mum said in her letter we were to keep in touch with each other, and I hope, Beau, we will. We were never close as children, but perhaps we can be now that we have grown up.” Sophie looked at Beau, who nodded in agreement. She could see he was upset, a side she had never witnessed before. Sophie went over to him and kissed him on the cheek. “Come on, let’s go for a walk, it’s a beautiful evening, and we can talk and fill each other in on where we both are in life.”

Grudges were buried that evening, and the siblings embraced the new togetherness they’d found and promised each other they would keep in touch and meet up as often as they could.

A few days after the funeral, Sophie and Beau said their goodbyes. Sophie felt a bit sad walking towards her car and wished she could have had more time with Beau, but she had to get back to her workload, and so did he. As she approached nearer to her car, she could see the petals of a blue moon rose scattered across the bonnet. It was too early for roses to flower, but she knew where they’d come from.

She smiled, looked up and the sky and whispered, “Thank you, Mum.”

Sophie picked up the petals and put them into a tissue to keep, and she felt better. She would do what she used to as a child and dry the leaves and place them somewhere special where she can see them every day. The petals were her mother’s way of healing the rift; only she knew about the blue moon rose. Sophie looked through her mirror at her mother’s cottage, pulling out of the driveway, her heart was lighter, sad, but not heavy or angry. As she drove away, she left behind the bitterness, the anger, and the regrets and replaced them all with love in her heart for her mother.

© 2025 Jan Hope