To those of you who were fortunate enough to know my mother, you must either be a family member or a very privileged person indeed. For, her family was of a paramount importance, her inner sanctum, and others were lucky to be accepted within this sphere. This anomalous and premature loss of a woman, who was wife to my father, mother of their 6 children, and confidante, soul-mate and friend to numerous grandchildren, will leave a void in all our lives. For most of my life, I always thought it was normal for a family to spend Christmas, Easter, birthdays, holidays and christenings together. Mum would work tirelessly and ceaselessly in her role as peacemaker, kingmaker, diplomat and counsellor to iron out any grievances real or imagined to not just keep these events recurring but for each of us to look forward to the next one. Like all families, we would argue fight and disagree but she taught us the value of forgiveness, commitment and shared meaningful lives. This sense of loyalty was engendered and strengthened by her love for us and an imbibed sense of fair play and dignity. Sadly I now feel that many other families are not so fortunate. Mum’s magnanimity, vivacity and generosity of spirit seem to be the benchmark few could aspire to let alone achieve. In her mind she was still a teenager, the notion of which belied her physical years and advancing frailty. With a hint of mischief in her eyes, she was always on the lookout for the next adventure. She adored all of her grandchildren and saw the world from where they were standing. Upon her recent move into sheltered accommodation, I asked if she thought she would make some new friends, to which she replied, “Oh no, they’re much too old for us”. Henceforth, Anna and I would refer to them as “the new kids on the block”. One thing I can now say with certainty is that mum did not die of old age. She died of an insidious and cruel disease that could have been, if not prevented, at least delayed. Six years ago, I was admitted to hospital myself with chest pains. Two days later following emergency heart surgery, mum was there with Gerard and dad as I came back from the operating theatre. Just as the ordeal seemed to be over, I lost consciousness as my heart slowed to a standstill. Mum ran quickly for the medical staff and the emergency team were there within seconds. Though unconscious, I was acutely aware of my body’s response as the blood ceased to flow in my veins and I could hear the frantic comments and questions of the doctors and nurses as they repeatedly failed to find a pulse. As the staff worked to kick-start my heart, I felt a hand on my head that was strangely reassuring. Moments later, as the blood began to course through my body again I felt the most intense pins and needles that I’ve ever experienced, and relief that the crisis had past. Over the next few weeks and months, my mum and dad nursed me back to full health. They freely devoted all of their time to me without complaint, for which I will be eternally grateful. A month ago, about half way through her terminal decline, all of the family were taking it in turns to provide mum with the 24 hour care that she so desperately needed, in order to keep her at home. Despite her protestations one Sunday, Anna and I took the difficult decision to call an ambulance to readmit her to hospital. Later that evening mum deteriorated further and at an alarming speed. As she fought for her life we weren’t allowed near her at first but then the medical team withdrew for what they said would be her final moments. As I put my hand to her head and held her other hand in mine, I spoke to her calmly and reminded her of that day 6 years earlier. But now it was my hand that was reaching out to her to prevent her from slipping away. Slowly her breathing eased and the convulsions stopped. She had survived another day. I still feel the comfort of your hand mum but then I always did throughout my life as your son. What reassures me however is that all family members bar none were lucky enough to feel this warmth too. You made us all feel special and few people have such ability as this. Finally, I’d like to take the opportunity to thank dad, and each of my brothers and sisters for their tenacity, fortitude and above all, unfailing love they have shown in this, this most difficult period. Thank you. Condolences from Poland, Holland and Ireland.