I hate that you just exist in pictures now

When I was pulling together my speech for her funeral, my biggest aim was to make sure that I got to talk about exactly who she was. At the time, it was so important for me to make sure everyone heard about the Mum my siblings and I knew, the Lynne who her husband and friends loved. I had a real fear of her being remembered for just a few aspects of her personality, but I felt so strongly that there was so much more to her than that, and I wanted her to be known for who she was.

It’s funny how important things like this become.

I always knew I was going to write something for her funeral. As soon as we found out she was terminally ill, it was just something that I knew I would do. I would think about it when I was driving, when I should’ve been working, even when I was in the shower. But sitting down to properly pull it together in the days after she died wasn’t what I expected.

Here’s an extract of what I read:

“She was one of a kind. She was truly original. She had a freckle at the end of her nose. She always smelt so good, a combination of Elnette hairspray and her Chloe perfume. She had particular cloths for particular cleaning jobs. Her eyes would shake from side to side when she was telling us off. She loved nothing more than a Chinese on a Saturday night in the winter with an episode of Strictly Come Dancing. Her wide-mouthed laugh. Her bloody glasses. If they weren’t on her head, she was sat on them. Not one pair wasn’t broken, with a lens missing or a snapped frame. She was always so into royal history. Years of moisturizing left her skin so soft. She accepted anyone and everyone for who they were. Her hands were small and dainty. She was a fast driver. She would only use Clarins products on her face.  She loved a gossip. She knew all the words to ‘Love Shack’. She was obsessed with Teddy Sheringham. She could laugh at herself. She loved dressing up. She made everyone feel at ease. She could spend hours sitting at the dining table after a meal just chatting away. She knew her own mind but was always willing to listen to other ideas and views. She loved to take us to the theatre, especially if we were seeing Mamma Mia. She was fiercely protective. Her favourite time of the year was Christmas, and she would work so hard to make sure we all got gifts we would love and made the day magical. She managed to know everything that was going on with us at any given time. People would go to her for advice. She loved being in the sun, on holiday with her friends. She couldn’t stand being lied to. She loved walnut whips and teacakes. She loved reminiscing about her younger years and the music of her era meant so much to her. She cared so much about the people around her. She was so many things to so many different people. She was a colleague, a boss, a wife, a daughter, a friend and a mother. ”

I read this every so often. Especially now I just have pictures of her. She exists only in 2D in photo frames or on my phone screen.

Will I forget her voice or her laugh? I can see her clearly still, but I know this will fade, and as much as I try to not look too far ahead - that is the scariest thing of all.