MUM I find it hard to believe that this is you I cannot imagine the courage you have to persevere I see your determination behind faint blue eyes I feel your struggle to triumph against impossible odds I struggle to leave your bedside knowing that you can’t leave I turn the key in your lock knowing you will never do this again I sit amongst your lifetime’s possessions knowing they no longer have their keeper I see the chair you will never sit in again I thumb through your address book and see your neat writing and names of people who will miss you I see the family photos abundantly displayed, faces of those you love and who will always know your love I see your shoes lined up knowing you will not walk in them again I see your little suitcase in the cupboard knowing it’s not going on this journey with you I find remnants in the fridge as if you might come back home for dinner I see all the products in the bathroom that kept you beautiful I see your son in the mirror and wish it were you.

It’s hard to think of one’s mother as once being a child herself, but maybe that’s easier now that we have children of our own? But there was her life before we came into this world, a modest life, a crowded life as one of 9 siblings, an early life made difficult in a war, a life where she had to be a caretaker deprived of the simple joys of being just a child, but her lost childhood was later redeemed when she was able to gift this to us; two boys who would be protected from the horrors of her own experience, and be given as much love and means as she could. Few young women these days can say that they married the boy next door, but she did, and quite a catch he was too. Few couples can say that the love they found so young would last a lifetime, but it did even though her husband John, our dad, was taken from her so early; prematurely taken by the same illness that would later claim mum too. Mum cleaned houses, worked at the dry cleaners and was the school dinner lady, (no doubt a ruse to keep an eye on us boys)and at the same time raising our family, a work ethic to make sure that we were provided for. Later on and for 20 years she found her niche at Abbey Road Studios and was even given a gold record to commemorate her service there. Never fazed by the celebrities she met and served, in fact she didn’t know who many of them were. She was always her genuine self and brought that quality out in others, her maternal instincts and caretaking ways made her “Auntie Doris” to many recording legends and their children. Cliff Richard would always get the skin off the custard and the McCartney children would enjoy some normalcy in her care while Paul banged out another hit record. Sing-a-long recordings that were taped in the studios with the likes of Jeff Love and Mrs. Mills, would have mum’s voice on them somewhere in the crowd and I believe one day she was let loose with a baton to conduct the London Symphony Orchestra, but I don’t think you’ll find those recordings in the record shops! Mum always knitted our matching jumpers, made sure we had our school uniforms and supplies each year, always made possible a summer holiday to some exotic corner of Southern England, but only in her later life did she spread her own wings and venture beyond the shores of England. Her home however never moved beyond the boundaries of Marylebone, she lived and died within blocks of her birthplace, yet another rarity in these days of social mobility. She clung to the fabric of these neighbourhoods for comfort and could never see herself living anywhere else despite the whole Brooks family being long gone, as well as us two boys. (or are we now men?) Mum was one tough cookie, a product of a special generation, she cared for others but found it hard to be cared for herself. She was cursed with the “worry gene” which made it hard for her to be more adventurous, but she proudly pushed through this handicap on many occasions to experience a little more of the world and venture to places as far off as Australia, America, the Caribbean and Eastbourne. This same courage would serve her well with her battle over the past couple of years with cancer, which showed us again her determination to survive against impossible odds. It is particularly sad that she had only the briefest time with the grandson she always craved, and as usual, his wellbeing was always foremost in her mind, above her own grave condition, but she still had a wealth of love to give him, and Liam as small as he is, will surely miss his grandma too. All the clichés ring true, and they do so for a reason; she may be gone but will never be forgotten, her voice will forever be heard in our heads and her love will always be felt in our hearts. Her presence will be undying and her influence still present, her legacy will be carried through future generations, so her immortality is certain. So it’s cheerio, not goodbye mum, as you will still be somewhere in our lives in the days and years to come, just as you always were.

Auntie Doris, I shall miss you so much - even when you told me off. Just to say I will love and miss you always. Thank you for all the things you did for me. Till we meet again.