Sadly, on February 2, Mum died.

The 2nd of February is also associated with Imbolc, a Celtic celebration of spring, nature, the passing of darkness and arrival of light. It is a time when thanks is given for the peace and restfulness of winter and focus is turned to the anticipation and arrival of spring. Not surprisingly, Imbolc is often associated with snowdrops.

Those of you who knew Mum will know how fitting that day is for her to have passed. She also had a little vase of snowdrops by her bed.

She was an avid nature lover and an amazing gardener, who could take cuttings from anything and nurture them to ‘adulthood’. She would also create the most beautiful, natural flower arrangements from garden and hedgerows, - the wilder the material the better. Her creative side spilled into pottery – making little vases to compliment her flower arrangements - and homemade cards, and many people will have received one or the other from her at some stage. I think it is partly a generational thing, but there was always a card in the draw – on the drawing board – for every occasion.

She was also infamous for wearing baggy, elastic-waisted trousers when visiting gardens – public or private – so that she could pinch cuttings and stow them in the waistband of her trousers.

Ian and I are extremely grateful everyone who has sent their condolences and thoughts, and to the fabulous paramedics Andrew Carpenter and team and Jo Slocombe, the cool, calm and accommodating ambulance driver. Huge thanks also go to the carers at Oaklands in Llangynidr for the incredible professional and personal care they gave to Mum. It was very much her 'home' for nearly 6 years, and the carers became ‘family members’.

I am also grateful to Ian, who has been a ‘top brother’. Despite age, circumstances and ‘warnings’, you are never ready for these events and practical support, as well as emotional understanding, is so very helpful. He has also proven to be an excellent, if 'unlikely', proof-reader!

It is of course too simple to claim that gardening may be an antidote for grief, but working in a garden juxtaposes the precarity of everyday presence with the certainty of loss in ways that evoke the tenuous human relationship between life and death.

Mum loved spring. She wrote a lot of poetry with many of the poems we have found being connected to springtime. Here’s one of them:

Spring has arrived again. Lambs gambolling, racing, who will win?

Daffodils dancing in the wind. In woodlands anemones and celandines you’ll find.

Trees standing by with buds fit to burst, usually will find the elder is the first

Hawthorn hedges showing fresh and green, another first to be seen.

Looking around my garden in sheer delight, primroses, violets – a lovely sight.

Wallflowers, Christmas roses too, a few I’m not sure of – one a striking blue.

Forget-me-nots so dainty beneath a red flowering shrub.

Pansies and violets smiling in their tubs.

Hyacinths with their heady perfume, the Clematis beginning to climb, buds will appear soon.

From my window I can watch, rooks, crows and Jackdaws as twigs they fetch.

Making their nests in tall trees, shortly we’ll hear their young calling their needs.

As parents search for food to bring for open beaks –

The next step they are on the wing. So beautiful is spring.

Late at night from my bedroom I see quirky shapes from car park lights and swaying trees

The little bungalow across the road, stood empty for months, it looks sad as if it carries a heavy load. It’s in need of love and care and I’m sure will make happy whoever eventually lives there.

We will be having a Thanksgiving Memorial Funeral Service for Mum and I will share those details in due course. You are welcome to bring a single flower or feather to be incorporated into a larger floral arrangement. Thank you.