Mum died on Monday. Elizabeth phoned, tearful, to tell me. She passed away peacefully in the morning. Sad. I’ve been too busy, almost, to grieve but I wanted to keep busy. Keep moving. Now I can stop. Pause. And feel sad.

We’re having a memorial service in Ann Arbor on Sunday afternoon as I can’t go back to the UK for the funeral. Well, I can go back but then I’d have to apply for another visa to get back. And that could take six to nine months, like the last one. Painful. Sad. But at least I can do something here.

Doing something. Why is that important? I’m not sure. Life goes on, I guess, and doing something affirms that.

I’ll go back to Britain when I can and hope that my friends will light a candle for my mum in the Abbey. I don’t know why the candle works for me, but it does. A symbol of spirituality, a mark of someone passing on from when Grandma used to take us to the Catholic Church in West Hampstead.

Last night I spoke to Uncle Owen in New Zealand. It was so good to talk to him without the several second phone delay you get in England. He’s quite a character. One day, we’ll go out to see him again too. Now I can pause. And feel. And feel sad. Mum’s gone.