A milestone birthday so many people have reached and passed. An age she should have lived far, far beyond. It is our first birthday without her; the first time in my life that April 5th does not include hugs, kisses, presents, phone calls, birthday cards and messages of love to her.

When Marilyn turned 60, my dad presented her with a book of photographs and messages, from 60 people who loved her. There were notes from immediate family members, university friends, relatives, colleagues, and a fair few from her primary school. There were dozens of photos of my mum throughout the years. I am sure many of you reading this contributed to the gift. I was impressed that aged 60, she had maintained friendships with people she’d met fifty years prior. That her university and school friends could vividly remember the first day they met her. However, it wasn’t surprising – Marilyn put so much effort into her friendships. She visited friends around the country and enjoyed hosting people at our house. She wrote letters to friends living abroad, at a time when international phone calls were too expensive. She called her friends regularly. She gave people attention and affection and made them feel important and seen. She kept her address book meticulously up to date so that people could receive Christmas cards, birthday cards and postcards. No one ever felt forgotten or overlooked by Marilyn. She had an enormous capacity for love and she showed it every single day. She was very touched on her 60th birthday, holding in her hands evidence of how many lives she had touched.

When she died nine years later, many of the messages my sister, dad and I have received echoed that sentiment. I am so glad my dad took the time to make her such a thoughtful present, that 60 people contributed to it, that she knew how precious she was to us. The messages we’ve received after her death have been very moving and extremely similar to the notes in that book. She died knowing how deeply loved she was.

If I could speak to her now, I would tell her how much I miss her. How life isn’t the same without her. How hard it is navigate your way through a pandemic without your anchor. How much I miss her voice, her laugh, being close to her, hugging her, receiving her love and guidance. I would list the thousands of things I love about her. I'd describe how hard it is to see other people’s relatives turn 70, 75, 80 and older, how unbelievably unfair it is that her life was cut short, that we lost her so early and suddenly. Although she knew how much I loved her, I would tell her again and again until my voice grew hoarse.

Please raise a glass and toast to Marilyn today. Tell your loved ones stories about her. Share memories of her. Remember her and all the things which made her so special and unforgettable. 

From Isobel (her younger daughter)