Mum died on Saturday 14 October at 8pm. It’s hard to say out loud, and even harder to write. Because writing it down means it’s fact, it’s real.

There is not a minute goes by when we don’t think about her in some way. We miss her presence, her voice, her wind-ups. Her whole being. The world (as we know it) will never be the same again.

Many people reading this will understand that seismic shift when someone so central, so crucial to who we are as a person, dies. It’s an indescribable feeling.

Mum’s blog posts are too precious to lose so we’ve decided to keep this blog published so that people (and us) can still access her beautiful, comforting words.

We’d like to share with you the eulogy at her funeral. Many people who read this will have been there. But for those who weren’t:

Mum’s eulogy, by her 4 daughters

Traditional eulogies are often predominantly about facts. Where someone was born, where they went to college, and so on. But Mum’s life cannot be defined by facts. Not by us anyway, her 4 daughters.  

To us, her life was only ever about feelings. Mum felt deeply and passionately about so many things. Her family, her friends, her faith. 

But it was all about how she made other people feel. She made us, her daughters, feel constantly loved, safe, supported, protected, comforted.  

All 5 of us: Nicky her eldest and only son, Ruth, myself, Naomi and Jess were all loved and cherished by her in equal measure. 

Our Mum was a true mother in the purest sense of the word. A selfless, loving, kind, non-judgemental, generous human being who sacrificed many of her own wants and needs for the wants and needs of her children and grandchildren.  

Even though she loved us beyond measure, she made it her mission in life to encourage our independence and set us free. She never had any expectations of us as daughters and wanted us to live our lives the way we wanted, regardless of what she might have needed. 

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She made us feel full too! She was a feeder. If we picture Mum now, she’s in her ‘Yorkshire goddess’ pinny at home in the kitchen like the archetypal Italian momma. In fact, our name for her was ‘Momma B’.  

She always wanted to make sure we had plenty to eat. She loved nothing more than a family get together, and we all loved a Pauline buffet. This almost always included a sausage plait, prawn vol au vents, homemade coleslaw, her legendary scones, and a trifle.  

Her grandchildren all had the pleasure of eating her pancakes too and she’d happily make as many as they could eat.  

Making food was certainly one of her ways of sharing the huge amount of love she had for us all.  

She also made us laugh. So many laughs. Always joking. That silly, sardonic wit was a characteristic that defined her. 

Just like her own mother, Grandma Win, there was often a dance, a song, a shimmy of the shoulders. Especially for her beloved grandchildren, Xavier, Jessie, Frankie, Cass, Emily, Isla and Max. Grandma will always be with you. 

Her jokes and wind ups were also in full flow when her son in laws were around. Mum loved you so much Paul, Ross, Mark and Stig.  

Even in the most unbearable moments over the last few weeks, her default was humour. 

Just days before she died, Jess willed her on: “You can do it Mum”. Mum’s reply: “when you B and Q it”. 

 
When she found out the news that there was nothing more the doctors could do for her, her message for Dr Winter, the consultant who helped her enjoy nearly 6 years of life she thought she’d never have: “You’re sacked”. 

That was Mum. Sharp, funny, feisty, right until the end. 

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Mum was passionate about music, culture, and sport too. 

She’d listen endlessly to Radio 4. The Archers, Woman’s Hour, Desert Island Discs, In our Time were mainstays when we were growing up, and that never changed. 

She was an avid reader (Thrillers were her favourite) and a professional watcher of TV. Often into the dead of night she’d be catching up on the latest soaps, or the latest dramas on BBC iPlayer, ITV and Netflix. She loved watching sports too, particularly Wimbledon. And was slightly in love with Roger Federer.  

She was obsessed with word games and would rope in any willing grandchild to play when we went to visit or went on holiday. She’d get quite annoyed with herself if someone beat her.  

She loved to meet for a coffee and a toasted teacake. She’d go anywhere for a flat white.  

She loved to be by the sea and listen to the waves. Something she often did when visiting Jess in Newcastle, where her and Dad stayed nearby in Naomi’s Northumberland lodge. 

She loved music of all kinds…and her Alexa. She swooned over Elvis… a lot …and rejoiced in telling us she’d seen the recent film 3 times at the cinema. 

She loved watching Barnsley Youth Choir and arranging theatre trips with Aunty Sheila and Pat, her niece Katie, and next-door neighbour Jenny. The last one Mum arranged was Miss Saigon in July. This musical will now take on a whole new meaning for us all. 

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As Dad said, since the age of 5 Mum knew she wanted to be a teacher. And wow, what a teacher she was. Jess and I had the pleasure of being in her class. If you speak to many of our friends from school at that time, she was their favourite teacher. She was undoubtedly ours too. 

People have been sharing their lovely memories of Mum as a teacher these past few weeks. I thought I’d read a few: 

“I remember when I trapped my finger in the toilet door at St Dominic’s and it was hanging off. Your Mum had to drive me to pick up my Mum (on her own) and then go to the hospital. 

“While going to pick up my Mum, she managed to drive, stay calm, keep me calm and managed to keep me smiling, laughing and as distracted as possible. I’m sure that inside your Mum was freaking out, but all that mattered to her was me.” 

“I remember struggling with the spelling of the word ‘beautiful’ when I was in her class, and she taught me a way to remember the spelling. I still use that now with the kids I teach! I remember the conversation we had about it and she said: ‘Beautiful….like you are’.  

“At that time, I felt far from beautiful but your Mum saying it to me was amazing because I really respected and admired her. It stayed with me, and I won’t ever forget it.” 

‘Mum knew what a great teacher your mum was just from the fact that all three of her children at one point or another had accidentally called her “mum”! 

“Mrs Bristowe has, and always will be, the standard I hold my own children’s teachers to.” 

“That’s how I’ll always remember your mum: caring, compassionate and doing the right thing, without making a fuss. 

“Your Mum was quite simply one of the best, but you don’t need me to tell you that.” 

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Mum’s compassion was boundless. Not just for those close to her but for anyone suffering and in need. She always saw the good in people. 

This came across clearly in her blog, which we set up when she was diagnosed. It allowed her to process her own thoughts about her illness, while informing the many people who cared about her. It also showed the beautiful, eloquent writer she was. I’d like to read some of Mum’s words which seem even more poignant now: 

“What makes life precious 

“Seeing Springtime in all its glory. Watching a robin hopping in the garden. Listening to a blackbird singing on the rooftop. Chatting with grandchildren and their parents, hearing their news and making my husband smile every day even when annoyed. 

“All these things make life precious so that yes indeed, we do ‘want more life’. 

“I choose to believe that in death “life is changed not ended”. That we remain closely connected to those we love.” 

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Mum, you were our cornerstone, our guide, our confidante, our biggest supporter, our North Star…our everything. 

You will always be with us in spirit, until we meet again. 

We love you Mum.