Dear Mum,
Among my earliest memories are of the wonderful world we had at home together before I started school. I had a yellow painting apron with coloured fish and you gave each of the fish its own voice and personality. I used to pester you to let me paint all the time, just to hear their arguments and adventures, it used to make me laugh so much.
Later, on family holidays - usually on a wind-swept, rainy beach or mountain dressed in wellies and cagoules - you fended off Dad’s more hare-brained adventures to keep us safe and here to tell the tales.
That warmth, fun, humour and the sense that nothing could go wrong when you were around has always been with us in our family life. You always listened to us, you have supported my every decision and you have been there to mop up after the failures and celebrate the triumphs.
When I first brought Nick home - dressed in women’s clothing for a 70s party - you laughed at how ridiculous he looked but immediately took him to your heart and made him part of the family.
It was inspirational to see how you fought back after you first became ill, and since then you were there to see both Alastair and I get married, and you travelled to India and New Zealand. Right to the end, you found the energy to worry about us and our problems, however trivial. If I had a cold or a bad day at work, it mattered more to you than your own unimaginable suffering did.
When we learned that your illness had returned, just weeks after I knew I was pregnant with Abbie, we were scared you would never see her. But you were there to support me every step of the way and to create a fantastic bond with Abbie. In 10 months you have given her more love and fun than many of us could do in years.
If I can be half as good a mother to Abbie as you have been a mother to us and granny to her, then I know we’ll be ok.
Your loving daughter,
Catriona