For She (6/3/17)

I've tried to start this a few times now; nothing that I've come up with has done justice to what I want to say.

At 1.30am on Thursday we lost Jeanette's mum.

I'm desperately trying to sum up Sheila's life, what she meant to us, how she was as a mother to J, how she was as a mother-in-law to me, a nana to our two lads and to her other grandchildren, how she was as a sister to her six sisters and one brother, most of whom passed on before her, how she was as a wife to Tommy, who we lost nearly eight years ago. I'm trying but nothing works.

Friends and family have paid tribute in the last few days. They've told us how she was always positive, always well dressed, somebody you were always happy to see. And you put it in writing here and it doesn't sum her up.

I could tell you about the last night that we got really drunk together, two years ago on holiday, J lagging slightly behind as Sheila and I decided vodka and lemon was the greatest thing on earth. Sheila's conversation flowed that night, reminiscing about her youth, laughing and remembering. That doesn't tell you anything about her though.

I could mention that, on one of the first times that we met, she took one look at the black 'sort of moleskin' trousers (it was the eighties) and black knitted top and said 'that's a nice tracksuit' but that tells you nothing.

I could tell you how she put me and J up for eighteen months while we tried to sell our house in Leeds despite living and working in Liverpool. Could tell you how she treated me like an absolute king for that eighteen months. I could tell you that you couldn't ask for a better mother-in-law but I still don't think that I'd be scratching the surface.

We could talk about how her home was always the centre for the entire extended family, the spot that you would drop into while passing and always find a welcome. We could talk about the parties, about the warmth and the welcome. I could tell you how we weren't the only family members that Sheila and Tommy gave living space to over the years. I could mention, as I have before, how J and I went on honeymoon for a fortnight only to return to realise that our wedding party was basically still going on. Doesn't tell you anything about the person she was though. These are just facts, they're not emotions; the emotion is what you need.

I could tell you some of how she felt being the youngest of eight and seeing all but one of her siblings, and her husband, pass on before her. I could speculate about how that hurt and how lost it may have made her feel but it's something that she would never show the world; the second she left her home the world had a brave face to look at.

I could tell you how we only realised at the end how much of her sickness she must have been keeping to herself and for how long. I could tell you how she battled, how her heart was so strong that it simply wouldn't give out, how she kept holding on to life until the very end.

I could tell you how fortunate we were that her retirement and Matty's nursery years coincided, how he basically grew up in her house, how he has always been brilliantly older than his years because of that, could tell you how he and Tom always made sure that they'd pop in to Nana's on the way home.

In the last days she saw all her grandchildren, all her family and so many friends but when it came to it, at the last, she was with Jeanette, Tom and Colin. Just her and her three children. As she would want, as it should be, peaceful as she passed.

What I'll tell you though, what feels most important to me at this moment, is this;

She kept my business card in her purse, she'd pull it out and show to people, often while I was there. She'd tell people what I was doing. I'd feign embarrassment. I wasn't embarrassed, I was delighted.

On Friday we were working through her paperwork and we found two things that were particular to me and to my relationship with my wonderful mother-in-law:

A copy of 'They Say Our Days Are Numbered'. Despite being a lifelong blue from a family of lifelong blues she had read all but the last three pages.

A copy of Revolver issue three from August 1990. My 'one hit wonder' from the days when I intended to write comics. It had survived a house move and was in perfect condition. Finding that meant a lot.

These last three things? They talk about pride; pride in what your family has achieved. She was proud of every single thing that her family had done, her children, their partners, her grandchildren who she loved so much. We all know this. I know that Sheila was proud of me. I was proud of her. I couldn't have wished for a better mother in law.

On that last afternoon I thanked her for being my other mum and for being the best nana that I could have wanted for my sons. I'll thank her again now.

Thanks Sheila, rest in peace, we love you and we'll miss you x

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