This is a piece I wrote before Christmas. It's dedicated to my mother, Isobel, who died in November. She was 93 years old, and was much loved by all her family and friends. Mum loved music and dancing, and she sang and danced in many shows years ago. She also played the piano, and loved nothing better than to tuck herself away in the music room for some quiet time with her beloved Chopin. Mum played on to a ripe old age, and in fact taught young piano students in the village in which she lived near Dublin right up to her mid-eighties. She was a dedicated and loving mother to me and my brothers and sisters, and loving wife and companion to my late father. She was an oasis of comfort, and no day would pass without a 'well done', an 'I love you', or a hug, or being encouraged to drink up that glass of apple-cider vinegar and honey, or being told (recently even) when my eccentric humour stretched patience - 'you are not too old to be put across my knee'. The house was filled with her laughter. I miss her.
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Last edited by George Crocket on Thu Mar 16, 2017 8:12 am, edited 3 times in total.
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