Pinot, Bretzels, and Cathedrals

This is the tribute my brave sister spoke at yesterdays service.  She spoke so beautifully.

If the last thing I can do for you Mum is stand here and be brave for just long enough to share with everyone here what made you such a special mum and person to all of us – I will try and do just that. Forgive me if I falter. To honour you Mum – who spent the first 12 years of my life encouraging me to wear floral (this was the era of Biggie Best remember) – I am standing here today, not in black, but in a floral dress. Mum, it may have taken a few more years, but the tomboy has finally been bashed out of me.

My first memory of you Mum was your thick curly hair – which I was lucky enough to inherit from you, and pass on to my own daughter. So it turns out Mum, you used to iron your curls straight (with an actual iron I may add), I own the modern day equivalent that does the same, and my little Charlotte has asked me to blowdry her curls straight too. We are more similar than we think hey Mum? I may not have such a thick and glorious crop as you had, but I promise to embrace my curls more, just because they will remind me of you. You chose to shave your thinning hair in November last year while staying with us in Joburg – and you were brave enough to accompany John to his Algerian barber to do the deed. That is the brave Mum I know and love. Your silky salt and pepper crop that grew back after you finished chemo was envious Mum – with a cute little cows lick right here – we all know you wouldn’t have embraced the new colour, but let me say unreservedly – I think you would have rocked it.

So much of what embodied Mum can be summarised into 3 simple words – Mum, you were kind, generous and caring. You were not only all three of these things to our family, but everyone you knew. After your passing, we were all inundated with wishes and kind thoughts from those near and far – and the theme that came through from all these messages was the same. People have said things like: You were “Kind hearted, always smiling, always kind and generous, thoughtful, warm, special Sue – people have told us that you leave a massive gap in our family, other families as well as the greater Boston community, and that there will only ever be one Sue”. Mum, you were a second mother to so many. What I have realised through this period of introspection is that as a person, parent, mum – this is all you really need to be – kind, caring and generous – because this is what people remember you for, and what your legacy is built from. When you left us Mum, this is what you left behind – and its one incredibly high standard that you have set. I have 32 years of memories to hold onto, these memories that relate to your generosity, your caring nature, and your inherent kindness. 

• Mum, you bought me, at Aged 7, a luminous pink punk wig (of which I can unfortunately find no photos) – I treasured this wig for years – and it circled the community and was used for various events – you knew how much I coveted this wig – and you kindly bought it for me. I even threatened to buy to one instead of your more appropriate brown wig you wore after shaving your hair.
• You drove all the way back to Richmond School one Monday afternoon after you realised that I had left my blankie and 11 cuddly toys at home – just because you knew I couldn’t sleep without them.
• Mum, you came to almost every single one of my tennis and hockey games at school (and over 12 years – that was a lot of games) – you embarrassed a 10 year old me by running alongside the hockey field shouting my name (“Hit the ball Pandy”) – Charlotte finds it most entertaining that Granny Moo called me Pandy – I love this name now, it has stuck – and even has its own adult derivatives. I will always be your little Pandy Mum.
• You baked us birthday cakes over the years – even though creative decorating and icing wasn’t your strength – in the shape of Donald Duck, a farm yard, and a giant ginger cat with marshmallow mice – just because you cared. And you leave a gaping hole at Christmas time – we will all miss the usual Sue Christmas cake. Dad, can you take up this responsibility – we know the secret ingredient is all that brandy.
• Oh baking and cooking – Mum – for this you were so well known. Your famous tipsy tart, butterscotch sauce, Christmas cakes, chicken pie – paging through your recipe books is an emotional experience. You cooked because you enjoyed it – and it showed Mum. You ignited in me a fondness for cooking and baking too, not to mention Gaenor turning it into a career. Your roast potatoes – always in a class of their own.
• Mum, you went on not 3, but I think 4 Class 3 Durban trips with us as 10 year old Richmond School kids – and not because you were that interested in the Lion Match factory – but because you cared so much for us.
• Mum – you and Dad picked me up from jail that fateful night 16 years ago – and you never once said “I told you so” – the less we say about that night and Crowded House, the better I think?
• Mum, you are responsible for me making my first friend at University – you delivered me to Res with 2 boxes of your famous biscuits and chocolate crunchies – and you continued to do so for the next 4 years. You eventually gave me the recipe for these famous crunchies – and it is now up to me to feed the next generation.
• When I announced that I was going to run my first half marathon – you jumped straight onto a plane and flew to Cape Town to support me – you even bought me new running shoes – accusing me of “buying pretty and not practical ones” – you were of course right. How special it was to see you along the route during that race.
• 2 days before every trip my little family has made down to the farm – you requested a list of things that we needed – you made sure we were always well fed and watered – and above all, comfortable every time we visited. I have always been thankful for this. Staying with you has always felt like we were staying at home.
• The last time you made a bet was in support of your rugby team. They should be apologising to you on their current form – sorry you had to see that during your last season. Both you and Colin duly handed over a case of beer to John when the Lions won the Currie Cup that year. We are still surprised that the Lions won that match.
• I will toast to you during every Wimbledon season from next month – and have even promised to switch my support to your favourite, although I draw the line at supporting Andy Murray.
• Mum, you were a constant presence to Gaenor, Sarah Jane and I during our pregnancies, and after the birth of all your grandchildren – you were there, watering our pot plants (and sticking up a sign to remind Gaenor to do the same when you left), cooking for us, and just loving your grandbabies. There are many Boston babies spread across the world that have worn a Woolies baby grow – such is your boundless generosity. It breaks my heart Mum that you will miss out on meeting your newest grand baby. You balked at the suggestion that Graham and Sarah Jane call her Mavis Ethel Carr – but I think it has s special ring to it??

Mum, you loved your cats – your two special children once we moved away, you loved your garden and roses, you cooked and baked with love, you sewed and embroidered with such a neat and technical eye (you never accepted sloppy work), you are proof that you can in fact teach an old dog new tricks – you embraced an iPhone, a Kindle, and even consented to me teaching you how to use Excel – how I wish I had shown more patience with you and your quirks. 

Mum, you and I had a tumultuous relationship through my teenage years, whether it was my choice to no longer eat certain things, my desire to grow up too quickly (this resulted in the aforementioned incident involving jail), or the length of my matric dance dress – it has taken me growing up and having kids of my own to realise that the cause of friction was simply you caring for me. I never saw it as that at the time of course, but thankfully from the time I went to Cape Town, we have had many years of an adult relationship that has seen you as my best friend, my most dialled number (every day while driving home from work), my confidant, my advisor, my shoulder to cry on, my parental sounding board – this is why the hole in my heart and life is so very big today.

Lastly – My very special Dad – a pillar of strength and the most sensible man I know – just watching you care for Mum in her last weeks brings tears to my eyes, you have lost your wife of almost 40 years – I am so thankful that I have you as my foundation. Gaenor and Graham, you have always only been a phone call away, and have both helped Dad and Mum with their transition to the new phase of their lives last year. With your spouses and wonderful children, I will forever remember the most recent Christmas together on the farm, and I am so glad we were together with Mum.  It breaks my heart that it was the last Christmas with Mum. Mum – you were a brave and strong woman who beat cancer once 16 years ago, and have now succumbed to this evil disease. If we can all do one thing for Mum – it would be to never ignore what your body is telling you – you never want to leave it too late. Mum, I miss you every day, but will keep your memory alive in my heart.  
Those we love remain with us for love itself lives on,
and cherished memories never fade
because a loved one’s gone.
Those we love can never be more than a thought apart,
for as long as there is memory, they’ll live on in the heart.