A Tribute to Mum

Originally written in 2012 as a Eulogy for Mum's funeral. It was originally published here August 2013 — it's been updated for clarity and reflection.

Tomorrow marks a year since we lost Mum. It’s a hard time for us all, she's been sitting heavily on my mind, so much so that I wanted to honour her in some way. The day before she passed, I was lucky enough to spend time with her. She shared some beautiful words with me, words I’ve chosen to keep close to my heart.  

Writing has always been my outlet. So it made sense to put something down in words, especially knowing that family across the world didn’t get the chance to say goodbye in the way we did. Then came the question: what do I write?

I had the privilege of writing and speaking Mum’s eulogy. Even now, I still believe it captured what I, and many of my family, felt. Here it is again, as a place to remember her.

Mum and Dad

You can’t talk about Mum without talking about Dad. When they met, Mum was actually dating someone else. They were on a bus heading to a cricket match. Dad was sitting at the back with his friends when he flicked a cherry pip forward. By pure luck, it went straight down Mum’s top.  

Dad calmly walked up the bus, asked the captain of the team, Mum’s date, to move, saying, “I want my pip back. She’s mine now.”  

Their first date was at the pictures. Dad always said he behaved himself, even if they did take the long way home. In 1963, at just 19, Mum married Dad. The rest, as he always said, was history—a history that became a 50‑year marriage.

A Fighter With a Soft Heart

Mum was always a fighter. Looking back at photos of her small frame, you wouldn’t think she had it in her, but Dad learned quickly. One day, while messing around, he goaded her to punch him. She responded with a quick uppercut that knocked him clean out.  

That same fight carried her through life, especially when it came to protecting her Keith. They lived in the house Mum designed and built, everything exactly the way she wanted it.

Family, Adoption, and Love Without Limits

After 16 years of waiting, Mum and Dad finally adopted. Nathan arrived first—tiny, fragile, fitting into the length of her forearm. You’d never have guessed he’d grow into the man he is today, the one she was so proud of and never left after his accident.  

A few years later, they adopted me. It wasn’t easy, but they gained the rights to foster the day before Mum’s birthday. Dad tied a ribbon to my cot as a birthday present for her—one of her favourites, she always said.

Mum didn’t stop at us. She adopted and fostered so many people along the way. Later in life she treated her niece Victoria as a daughter, Graham as a son, and Jake as a grandson. Donna was more daughter than daughter‑in‑law. Our friends stayed over, sometimes for long stretches. She took people under her wing without hesitation, giving herself wholeheartedly, never expecting anything in return.  

She even took in YTS football boys from Gillingham FC, filling the house with years of laughter.

A Proud Nanny

Mum adored her grandchildren. William brought her joy and laughter from the moment she held him—tears running down her face. 

[Image 2. My mum wearing a pink jumper, sat in a purple hospital chair, meeting Will for the first time]

Then came James, who she loved giving cuddles to.  

Always fair, she explained to William which arm belonged to him when James arrived. Later, when she broke her arm, she explained again that he’d have to share. She was grateful for every moment she had with the boys.

Work, Commitment, and a Life of Service

Work was Mum’s way. I only recently learned that one of her first jobs was in a pickle factory—ironic, considering solving people’s problems was her real strength.  

She worked 19 years behind the bar at Rainham Mark Social Club, touching countless lives. She took new staff under her wing, never afraid to tell them when they were doing something wrong. She loved the hustle and bustle, especially darts competitions and big functions.  

She moved back and forth from the MOD over 30 years, totalling 20 years of service. It suited her military‑style work ethic. Loyal and committed, she was overwhelmed when asked to stay beyond retirement age.  

Her greatest achievement came when she received the highest honour from the Brigadier in Chief—a commendation of conduct. We were stunned to learn she had never taken a single sick day, using all her holidays for emergencies. She was the only civilian to receive that honour.

Her Humour, Her Heart

Mum had a unique sense of humour. I laughed, but I never fully understood it. She loved giving comedy presents:  

- a velvet thong made from a Christmas hat  

- inappropriate straws for a formal hen do  

- asking us to buy Dad a bucket of Viagra  

At Christmas she’d sit with an excited grin, waiting for our reactions. She once bought me mulled‑wine‑scented washing‑up liquid to “remind me to wash up all year.”  

She gave Graham a parsnip because he’d mentioned liking them. Whether the presents were wanted or needed didn’t matter—she thought about us all and left her mark.  

Nathan understood her humour best. Every Saturday after her salon trip, he’d walk in and say, “I thought you were getting your hair done,” and she’d smile every time.

More Than a Mum

In later years, even though she was still my Mum—and yes, I still took my washing to her—she became my friend. She helped organise my stag do, asking immediately, “How many strippers am I having?”  

She was a friend to all of us. Everyone who met her was touched by her life. She loved more deeply than words can express. She brought happiness with a special touch.  

I struggle with the thought of never speaking to her again, but I know she wouldn’t want any of us feeling sad. She fought for justice, stood up for others, and was fiercely loyal to the people she loved. She welcomed everyone because she loved everyone.  

She was a hard worker, devoted, generous, and still found time to make us laugh. Mum was more than a wife, mum, sister, nanny, or aunt. She was our friend—and she will be missed forever.

[Image 3. Mum outside dressed in a ivory wedding outfit taken in 2007. 

She's standing and smiling. This was used at the funeral]

Thank you for reading this tribute. Today, we went and placed flowers down at the crematorium, chatted to her, and remembered her lovingly. 

[Image 4. Beautiful red, pink, and yellow roses in bouquets. My mum loved those. Other similar coloured flowers are with them. 

They are placed in front of her crematorium tomb on a sunny day]

2026 Reflection 

Rereading this tribute in 2026 feels like opening a time capsule from a version of myself who was still learning how to breathe again. That first year without Mum was a blur of holding a newborn, a family together, and holding onto memories, 6 months after I was sectioned with undiagnosed mental health. Struggling as I carried on. I didn’t know then how much more life would unfold, or how often I’d return to these early posts to make sense of everything that followed.

Then life kept happening. Another year passed, then another, I started seeing qualities of mum in the woman around me, year on year. Then we lost Dad, after years of problems, which brought its own kind of reflection — a different grief and kind of writing, but still rooted in the same desire to honour the people who shaped me. Even the unexpected joy of 2024, the wedding that felt like a turning point after so many hard chapters, sits with this post through the way I remembered Mum and Dad in it. It’s strange to see how all these moments — loss, love, rebuilding — sit side by side when you look back from here.

Reading this now, I can see how much the memory of Mum still influences my life. This post wasn’t just a tribute; it was the beginning of a long conversation with myself about family, memory, and the way we carry the people we love forward. Thirteen years on, I’m still learning from her. I think she’d be proud of that.