The year that was

Yesterday, my brothers and I paused to reflect and remember the first anniversary of our mother's death. It was a day of conflicting emotions. I'm angry that so many memories are tainted by dementia in her final years. Equally, I'm grateful that her boundless curiosity and strength of character have had such a profound influence on my life. I'm sad that she's gone.

 
I fly to New Zealand to visit her grave tomorrow. A small part of me still lives in denial that when I arrive, she won't be there to greet me.

 
However, I cherish the memory that the last time she ever spoke to me was in a moment of pure joy. I will never forget the way she leapt to her feet when she saw me enter the room, burst into a flood of tears and embraced me warmly. In that moment, I knew I was loved and always would be.

Rest in peace, now and forevermore.