My mum died last month, so I’ve been a bit all over the place. It wasn’t wholly unexpected. She was 81, had mild dementia and had been in a care home for the last two years. It was bronchial pneumonia in the end. But still, even though you sort of brace yourself for the inevitable, it’s a real body blow when it actually happens.  

She had a very peaceful exit. My sister and I had been with her that morning. When mum was well, she loved doing the Yorkshire Post crossword, so Lu and I sat by her bed and did it together, out loud, so she could hear us, even though she couldn’t respond. Then we chatted about our friends and families, gave Mum a kiss, told her we loved her and said we would be back later.  

Ten minutes after we arrived home, the nurse rang to tell us mum had passed away. So I think, knowing Mum, she was hanging on until we left. I don’t think she would have wanted us to see her die and I’m grateful for that. 

Mum was never particularly tactile or gushing, but since her death I’ve felt her love all around me. I’m sad, obviously, and I’ve cried a lot, but I began grieving for the mum I grew up with almost as soon as her dementia diagnosis was confirmed. For years, if I’m honest, we’ve all been "dealing" with mum. Now though, I’ve been flooded with happy memories from when she was well. I feel like she’s telling me that it’s okay to be okay. 

Way back in 2003, Mum wrote a living will. This meant she was cared for how she wanted to the very end. It was a gift, as she knew we would hate to have made those choices on her behalf. She went one step further, leaving an envelope with instructions for her send-off, right down to printed out poems and CDs for reflection music. You’ve no idea how much this helped. It meant we could focus on what she wanted us to hear.  

All I had to do was write and deliver her eulogy. I just about managed to hold it together, apart from accidentally saying Catherine Cockson, rather than Cookson when talking about her reading preferences. She’d have laughed at that. She’d have also giggled with us the previous week, when the lovely lady registering Mum’s death lightened the mood by recalling some of the centuries-old names on the list. I’m sure Bottomley Cockshot and Fanny Tremble were turning in their graves.   

I’m not daft enough to think that my grieving is done. I know there will be many more moments when I crumble, but I really feel both Mum and Dad are nudging me to move on. So I hope they were watching last Saturday night, when, instead of moping, I drank cocktails with my friends and went dancing in my new yellow shoes, securing a trophy for ‘Best Groover’.