As a woman in my mid-50s, I don’t receive many invitations, and that’s no hardship. I’ve never been much of a party person, and I’m certainly not becoming more sociable as I get older. But there are some invitations you’re always pleased to receive, and some people you will always show up for.

The party I’d been invited to sounded like just my kind of event. Intimate, at home, and no need to get dressed up – just come as you are.

The birthday boy had his mam with him. Slightly off-putting, you might think, but perfectly understandable when you consider he’s only two.

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Donncha is my godson. From the moment I saw his tiny ears and his little button nose, which wrinkles in the most endearing fashion, I knew he was someone special.

I met him only days after he was born and saw him often in those early months. But the first time I really got to spend any proper time with him was, sadly, at his grandfather’s funeral, as his lovely mam shook hands, made tea, and, through her grief, managed the day that was in it.

I took him out into the garden, walking in ever decreasing circles, introducing him to the cows in the field behind the house, and singing him the songs that soothed my own children when they were babies – ridiculously pleased when he rewarded me with a gummy smile before falling asleep in my arms.

There is something uniquely joyful about being a godparent. Not a parent, not quite an aunt, but more than just a family friend, you exist in that in-between space where the expectations are softer and the toys you bring can be louder

A perfect reminder that even in our loneliest times – perhaps especially in our loneliest times as we say goodbye to those we love – life insists on continuing.

And somewhere in the middle of all that – between new life and loss – I found myself growing into my new role as a godparent.

Of all the names I’ve been lucky enough to be called in my life – daughter, sister, mum and, more recently, granny – this is the one that took me longest to earn.

Moving from school to school as a child, and later to another country, meant I never built those lifelong friendships that begin on the first day of junior infants. The kind of friendships where people grow up side by side, attend each other’s weddings, and stand proudly as godparents to each other’s children.

So this role didn’t come early.

And perhaps that’s why it means so much.

There is something uniquely joyful about being a godparent. Not a parent, not quite an aunt, but more than just a family friend, you exist in that in-between space where the expectations are softer and the toys you bring can be louder.

Being a godparent is, at its heart, about showing up. On birthdays. At school plays. During awkward teenage years. And in those quieter moments when a child simply needs another adult who will listen. It’s the chance to step into a story that will shape you as much as you hope to shape it.

Donncha comes as part of a very attractive package. He has two older brothers who I’ve loved since I first met them as tiny babies, and his mam and dad who have honoured our friendship in the most generous way, inviting me to become a piece of their family jigsaw.

And as I sat on the floor at the party, eating the cardboard food he offered me, I smiled as I thought of the sleepovers, the trips to the park, and that all-important first trip to the cinema. Holding that small, trusting hand as we cross the many roads of life together. Cheering him on, guiding when I can, and loving him every step of the way.

There will be days, I know, when I’ll get it wrong. When I’ll say too much, or not enough, or, God forbid, bring Paw Patrol when Minecraft is now the flavour of the month.

But I’ll be there all the same. For my godchild, my dotey pet, my anam cara.

Joined together – not by birth or by blood, but by something just as powerful – by choice, by friendship, and, most of all, by love.