My mum was born in 1929 to a mother and father of Russian decent.
During the war she was evacuated out of Manchester to Bolton.
Her beauty was unquestionable as a young woman. She enjoyed dancing and dress making.
When she eventually married, my father, who had established a travel business, was able to take her all over the world.
She was fascinated by cultures, colours, customs and creativity where ever she went.
She headed up the League of Jewish Women and would give of herself selflessly.
She was mother to myself and two brothers. And perhaps because I am the youngest, I was always her baby, even at 58.
My brothers and I knew our mother in our own unique ways, but in my case I have memories of mum away with my father in far off places that I could not pronounce to eventually return to tell me stories of her travels.
Sadly, shortly after my Dad passed away in 2012, mum had to have a pacemaker fitted and then was cruelly hit by two strokes leaving her for almost six years with dysphasia and vascular dementia.
I loved my mum. She had a good life, made terrific meat strudel and szimmas and in return she loved all the family, her children, her grandchildren and her great grandchildren.
Her enduring loyalty to my late father was unbreakable.
Whilst I will miss her, having now departed on her one way ticket to her final destination, I have to be thankful that she was in my life for almost two thirds of her 90 years.
It’s taken a long time, but now mum is reunited with Dad and able to complete the last voyage to the one place she’s not been to … her final destination and resting place, after a wonderful and exciting journey.
Heathlands eventually became her home. Often I would pop in and we’d laugh about something .. and then when I would be leaving I would say “love you”.. and she would respond “I love you too” … to which I would always say over her protests .. “love you more”.
