Face to Face Meeting with Birth Mum

We are less than five minutes out when hubby says to Angel, 

‘You know today is all about what you need and want. If you said you wanted to turn around and drive back to London now, I would - no questions asked. And if at any point it feels too much, we can just leave and go home.’ 

I add, ‘Whatever you feel is OK too. Me and Dad are good with whatever you feel’. 

She smiles. I love my hubby; it was exactly what she needed to hear.

The meeting has been set at Whipsnade Animal Park, in the entrance cafe. Birth Mum and the social worker arrive before us, as planned. I see them through the cafe window as we approach in heavy rain. 

We shake off wet umbrellas, and I hug birth mum. It is more than a hug - it’s a squeeze, a rock, and eventually a kiss on the cheek, and still it doesn’t feel enough to express what I am feeling. The hug that says all the words we can’t find. We both cry. Eventually we pull apart, laughing at ourselves, and she asks if she can hug Angel.

Their hug is a little more pensive. We all sit while hubby goes to order drinks. We chit-chat about journeys and the rain. Birth mum thanks me and Angel for coming, saying it was brave. 

Angel gives birth mum a present she has made - a pottery cube that can be used as a paperweight, and a small star and heart, one for each of her sisters. Birth mum turns them over in her hands, admiring them, exclaiming at how talented she is.

Birth mum has a present too. A picture frame that reads:
The first time we met, Sunday 15th February 2026. A moment to cherish.

And a card: To Angel, I have always loved you and I always will. Thank you for meeting me. I’ve waited so long just to hold you again. All my love forever xx

The rain is not abating, but I have brought the photo books I made for Angel from when she was two, when she came to live with us, until seven. Birth mum looks at the pictures. It is an easy way into the years she has missed, although I worried before that it could also be painful. We are all treading carefully; this is new ground.

She shows us pictures from her phone of Angel and her siblings when they were born, of her dogs, and her new Maine Coon kitten. Angel, a big cat lover, is suitably impressed.

Eventually the rain stops. It feels like a small miracle; the forecast had threatened it all day. We decide to return to the car to put Angel’s gift and the photo books away, and birth mum asks if she can come.

Angel comes along. It is easy, the three of us - like we have all known each other forever.

Birth mum has an absolutely massive bunch of flowers for me. They are gorgeous. We hug again, I hold back tears. 

She tells Angel she loves her, that she’s always loved her, that she had a difficult childhood and was not well supported. I think Angel understands she is trying to say that it hadn’t been Angel’s fault.

She says she understood hubby’s reservations about meeting because of the first time we met. I say, “No, no. I understood. There are a lot of well-meaning but emotionally illiterate social workers.” I tell her when she left the room and I burst into tears, the social worker had said, “This must be very hard for you,” and I had replied, “For me? I’m not crying for me. I’m crying for her. I am taking her child.”

Later she said she didn’t want to overstep the mark, she didn't want me to think she was trying to take my child. I say, ‘we are both her mum, she is ours,’ with a big open heart and I mean it, but today I feel - no she is mine, I wish she was only mine.  

She talked about how close she felt to Angel because of how open I had been in the letters and all the pictures I sent and that she didn’t feel the same way about the twins because she hadn't had that; ‘I had to close my heart to them because it was too painful.’  

I said to not judge them too harshly, how before I met them, I had some preconceived notions because they hadn’t wanted contact initially. But once I knew them, I understood they were doing what they felt was right, with the knowledge they had. I tell her they are a great family and how open they had been to our way, even though theirs was different. 

Angel relaxes into herself once we are walking around looking at animals. Most are not in sight because of the cold and rain, but we see enough to keep us occupied. We fall into twos and threes, each getting space to talk.

“Mum, look at this…”

I don’t know if she calls me more because her birth mum is with us, or if I just notice the word more. She is keeping me close. At one point I have to steer the conversation back to Angel - birth mum and I have so much to say to each other, but that can be for another day. This day is about Angel. Birth mum notices and switches easily.

Hubby gets his time with birth mum too and comes away reassured. ‘She is definitely a conscious black woman,’ he tells me later.

When the cold gets too much, we head to another cafe for hot chocolate and food. Angel wants me to come to the toilet with her. I ask her what she thinks. 

‘I love her,’ she says beaming. 

‘That’s great,’ I say,’ ‘I am so glad’.

When we get back to the table she puts her head on my shoulder and whispers, ‘I love having two mums.’ She even lets me kiss her on the forehead and keeps her head there.

I don’t think it's for me, I think it is genuinely how she feels but maybe I’m wrong? Maybe she is allowing me this privilege to reassure me, or us both? Or maybe it is just this uncomplicated for her? Maybe it's uncomplicated because she can feel the connection between me and birth mum, so it isn't threatening for her to feel it too?

The social worker takes some pictures of us all on my phone and birth mum asks if she can take some too. ‘Of course’ I say, ‘or I could just send you mine’. The social worker looks at her, then me and there is a moment where we are all thinking how exactly? The social worker says she could send them on, but her phone is full. ‘Give me your number and I’ll just send them to you.’ I say to birth mum. 

Another barrier crossed, another door opened. Am I being too open? Somehow, it would have felt churlish not to. 

We spend four hours together. I thought it might only be one, but we all have so much to say and Angel is light and happy. Birth Mum marvels at how calm Angel is, how beautiful, how composed. 

Look at who you have raised! 

I tell her people are often impressed with Angel, how amazing I think she is, how proud I am. 

Back in the car park, the rain has started up again. We hug; thank each other; cry. Again. Angel hugs birth mum properly this time and birth mum tells her how proud she is and to keep doing what she is doing.

On the way home Angel says, “It was the best day of my life.” She is beaming. I remember she has said that before about other days, but this might well be true. I ask if it feels like a piece of the puzzle has been put back.

“Yes,” she says.

In the pictures from the day she looks like the cat that’s got the cream.

Later, I ask what she would like to happen next.

“I want to meet my sisters at Easter,” she fires back.

She’s thought about it. 

Like I said - door open.

And deep breath.

Again.

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