I am attempting to write this blog on Thursday 8 December.
Mary would have turned 49 today. Instead she died from breast cancer one month after her 44th birthday.
By the time she had had a doctor’s examination of the lump in her breast, discovered during her second pregnancy, it was too late. She was told she had up to five years to live. She made it a little over half
It’s very easy to get swept up in the holiday season and forget what it’s really about: enjoying quality time with the people you love and care about. And remembering and appreciating those who are no longer
Happy birthday, Mary, I think about you every day. I miss your infectious warmth and optimism. I miss our conversations.
I grieve for your absence in the respective lives of Ned and Lola. I grieve for the conversations with their mother they no longer have.
Your life counted, Mary. And it’s missed.