I got the call that no one wants. 'Come home; you need to see Mum.' So I flew back to the UK as soon as I could, passing through Singapore airport where the curry puff outlet has been restored, Never has the name seemed more ironic.
I got home just in time to say goodbye. I am so sad, and the images of Mum's final days look nothing like her, so I look at memories of happier times, from her recent Chritmas outing for afternoon tea, and to her Mother of the Bride stint at my wedding. I love you, Mum.
Lack of sleep, lashings of jetlag, unfathomable grief and freezing mornings combine. I head to the river.
The Weevil walks with me, until she heads off on a frosty run.
Nothing says the party is over like a frozen glass of Pimms outside the rugby club.
It's such a sad time. I am glad we are together to give support and to try and find some smiles amidst the tears.
Another morning walk along the Thames in the other direction to the church where we were married.
Not everyone is happy with this cold weather.
Back at the house I found some old diaries from the siblings, in which they recount the great 'Katie got bit by a swan' saga, and a tapestry piece that Mum had started, so I asked permission from Dad to complete it. And there is always a pint to finish the day.
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| The Weevil's account is not overly sympathetic |
