For Mum, and for the moments that lived quietly between us.
I think often of those afternoons where you, me, and Nan sat in the living room at Chesterton and years later Bradwell—tea brewing, biscuits passed around, laughter like birdsong in the room. You both had that knowing look, that subtle grace that held me in place when I felt unsure.
You both taught me that strength isn’t loud—it’s found in soft hands, long hugs, and the way we kept going when no one saw.
We didn’t need grand gestures. Just being together was enough. I miss those easy silences, the shared glances, the quiet rituals we never named.
Memories we shared will never be stolen. Ours, and ours alone. So many years.
I remember how we’d cast the sweet wrappers into the fire —tiny flashes of foil catching the flames, curling and sparking like little offerings. A simple habit, but somehow part of our rhythm. The end of something sweet, the quiet flicker of comfort, and the way the fire carried our secrets gently away.
I still see Nan by the fire, fingers dusted with soot, lifting them into the air with a smile—“Fly away Jack, fly away Paul.” Two little birds, given flight with the kind of love that felt like home. It was her quiet spell, her way of making everyday moments feel enchanted.
Now they’ve both flown. But their rituals remain. In memory. In me. I miss them both deeply. You are safe now with your mum. Hold her hand Nan and guide her safely. I will remember your strength even when the world feels heavy.
So I'll blow you a kiss mum and pray you catch it as you always did.
With love deeper than words,
With all my heart,
Sandra xxx
Sandra
19/07/2025
