I just had a few thoughts today – it’s Sunday, so it’s quieter and I can “hear myself think.” I have been quietly thinking about the life of my mother-in-law, who passed away recently. It became even more poignant when I wrote a short eulogy for the funeral, which was beautifully read by our cousin. I realised that my husband and I only knew fragments of her life. Parts of it were quite hidden. In a sense, it is our family’s “Windrush story,” and I find it really moving, when I think about her life.
In my own little tribute, I shared memories of her sitting by the gas fire on cold, dark winter evenings at her home in London, trying to keep warm; and then later on, when she joined us in Jamaica, sitting on the verandah on sunny afternoons, day-dreaming and looking at the flowers in her front…
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