Marilyn was warm-hearted, friendly, sociable, outgoing and so much fun to be around. I miss her more than words can express. She was my advisor, my confidant and a fount of knowledge. She was my darling mum and my closest friend. Actually, she was my first friend – it was just me and her for nine months before I met my dad and sister! 

My mum was a force of nature, small in stature but mighty when it came to her wit, her intellect, her fiestiness, and boldness. She was very opinionated and liked deep conversations and debates. She was a culture vulture who was well-read and well-informed. She loved books (especially crime and thrillers) and often watched Scandinavian crime dramas on TV. If it starred cold-looking police officers in chunky jumpers, she’d watch it. Her love languages were acts of service and quality time. She loved to help people – professionally and personally – and could always be counted on for support, advice and encouragement. She loved spending time with friends and family. She knew how to make you feel special. 

She enjoyed cooking and hosting, watching people enjoy her culinary delights, bring people together, making people feel welcome and included. Since her death, school friends have reached out to my sister and I, telling us how our mum always made them feel at home in our house. It has been described as a safe haven… a home away from home. She would have been genuinely touched to know she created an environment like that, not just for her daughters, but their friends as well.

She loved to write and dreamed of publishing a book one day. This is something I would like to do in her honour. She was creative and imaginative. Before her cancer diagnosis, she filled her days with hobbies and activities: she sang in a choir, went to the cinema regularly, went to the theatre every couple of weeks, wrote on her travel blog, played the saxophone and did adult education courses. She loved to learn and explore. She visited so many countries and had the most incredible stories, but there was more she wanted to see. She didn't just count countries, she made every experience count. She really made use of the time she had but I wish she had had more. I wish I had had longer with her. Thirty-three years were not enough…. a hundred wouldn’t have been enough.

It is indescribably difficult being here without her. Hard to accept, like we are going through a bad dream or living in an alternate reality. I miss her voice, her laugh, being able to call her at any time, her hugs and the security and support she gave me. I will continue to love her, think of her and miss her tremendously every single day, until we meet again.

By Isobel, her younger daughter.