How nice some of the people my mother was friendly with actually are, and how I seem to have inherited some of them as friends.
Yesterday, I was chatting to one of my mother's great friends, a lovely lady with whom she laughed and played golf (this lady, her husband, and my mother were all excellent golfers).
Afer retiring, this lady (who had worked in insurance) and her husband (who was a retired teacher, and with whom she had a terrific relationship) both used to volunteer at the local hospice, making themselves available for stuff, sitting with and laughing with, people/patients, running errands (such as delivering bloods to the hospitals) for the hospice and so on.
Decent, ethical, generous and warm people, who loved to laugh and who tried to help to make the lives of others a bit better.
When my mother used to head into the hospice for respite care, this pair - with whom she had been very friendly, but whom she no longer recognised on account of her dementia - always sought her out, sat with her, chatted with her, teased her, and made her laugh.
Six weeks ago - I was not long back from Bosnia - Decent Brother (who had spotted the death notice) let me know that the husband had passed away; I sympathised in writing, - my mother had really liked both of them, and had always had great fun with them, and used to comment on how strong their relationship was - but, recalling how empty life can be in the weeks immediately after a bereavement, in marked contrast to the frenetic activity that surrounds a funeral - and how the first Christmas without a life partner can really be a painful experience - I phoned this lady.
She was delighted to chat; she told me that around the time my mother died, (which was four years ago, this week) her husband's health - a big, strong, fit man, and a terrific teacher - deteriorated; leukaemia, Parkinson's, and - tragically - dementia, combined, and she cared for him - with state supports, yes - at home, until close to the end.
They were a month short of fifty years (happily) married when he died.
She plans to resume her golf in the New Year, - bless her, it kept her sane throughout her husband's illness - and told me that she will spend some of Christmas Day with each of her two (adult) children, then "return home and curl up in front of the fire with a bottle of Sapphire Gin, and a good book."
And, having buried her friend, life partner, soulmate, and husband barely six weeks ago, she still found time to chat warmly about my mother, and recall their golf outings with affection, and she vividly remembered my mother's attachment to Mr Monkey ("she loved that monkey, and would never let him go") on the occasions she had been admitted to the hospice for respite care.
A lovely lady; we shall meet for coffee and a chat in the New Year.