If she were alive today, she would be
years old fabulous.
Caught up with my lovely sister in town to have dinner and celebrate her life. This year we talked about change, and all the things we’d eagerly tell her about if we could. Would Deb approve? (She hated, hated when people called her Deb, so naturally I always called her that).
There’s still a part of me that expects to come home, walk into her bedroom and see her there with her espresso machine, vintage powder compact collection, mountains of artwork and a warm, cheeky smile behind a delightfully silly PG Wodehouse tome. She was really one of a kind, and, without any remorse for the cheesiness of the line I’m about to type, I feel so lucky to have known her not “just” as my mum, but as my best friend.
I love you. ❤