“For a very small woman she had a huge impact.”
This was the phrase I heard again and again from friends and family at the funeral of my dear, kind, funny and wonderful mum, Vera.
At the end of October mum was admitted to hospital unexpectedly after suffering a huge heart attack. Unfortunately, we were told she would never recover. She had been ill for a while and was already very weak. I managed to fly back to England to see her while she was still able to communicate. We did get her home to receive end of life care which was her wish. She spent her last few days at home with help from a team of care workers, my sisters, Lynne and Karol, myself and her cats close by.
She finally passed away peacefully in her sleep on Monday, November 4th. She was 80 years old.
I shared many of my mum’s passions travel, art, family, culture, gardening, animals, nature, craft and so many more. It was not really surprising that these were my interests too. From a very young age she taught me to draw and paint, how to knit and sew, regularly took me to art exhibitions, let me help out in the kitchen and garden and encouraged me to document my travels and adventures in journals. Without Vera there would definitely be no Travels with my Art.
At four foot ten she certainly was a diminutive woman, whose door was always open to everyone. Mum was always busy, but somehow always had time for everyone and her twinkly bright brown eyes never missed anything.
She loved this poem. When it was read out at her funeral let’s just say that I shed more than just a tear. She was without doubt the kindest, warmest and friendliest person I have ever met. I am so proud to be her daughter. Sleep well Mum.
Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Nothing has happened.
Everything remains exactly as it was.
I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight
I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner.
All is well.
Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!
by Henry Scott Holland
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