I’ve been starting to write mum’s eulogy and finding it surprisingly difficult. The bones are there of course – the whens and the where’s and the structure of a life. But all that tells is a timeline of milestones. Important for sure, but it misses all the insignificant-in-the-grand-scheme-of-things moments. It says little of who mum was, just what she did.

I’m weaving through some of these little moments, but it is hard to know which to include and which to omit. I know many that are important to me, cherished memories from 54 years together. But these are just my precious times, my viewpoint.

I’ve been really trying to work out which would be important for mum.

What would she like the story of her life to look like? Did she treasure the same or different moments?

And of course, I only have one set of memories of her, memories of her as mum. Everyone who knew her will have a different viewpoint. Sadly, over the years she has lost most of her close friends and family. My dad would have armfuls of stories of her as wife. Their tales of her life have died with them.

So I’m back to the blank page again, wondering if I include her love of Emmerdale (right to the end she was asking me to put it on, but gently I had to say it was 11pm or 6am and the programme had long finished). Do I mention her fiendish sudoku skills, the companionship of our dog Ebony, her delight in a custard slice? Do I tell of her yearning for wild, bleak moors and crashing winter seas? The afternoon teas we enjoyed in Betty’s, bringing back memories of her there as a young woman? Do I try to squeeze in every joyful moment of childhood holidays, paddling in Cornish seas, toes and lips blue with the February chill? Or the warm cheese scones fresh out of the oven, welcoming us home after sledging with dad?

Do we erase the trying times? The times we argued, the times I struggled and rallied against the demands if caring for her? What about her sitting on the stairs when I came in late from the pub, always asking teenage me “what sort of time do you call this?” NB I never ever worked out the correct answer to this! The times she struggled in pain or after yet another operation?

Do I gloss over the final dying days, where all she was slipped away? Or do I include the look of bliss and the quiet “mmmmm” as chips of frozen chocolate milk soothed her dry mouth? What about the touch of her hand in mine? Her final breath?

Of course, we can never tell the whole story of a life. That would take a lifetime. A eulogy is by its nature, a brief summing up. I know I need to choose just some anecdotes, that will hopefully bring a smile to folk at her funeral. Maybe it will ignite some old memories of their own too. And I have all my days to keep remembering the little moments that made her life, a life I loved so very much.