Month: March 2025

When my parents announced they were selling the family home and moving to a flat I can remember the feeling of disbelief that fell on me. Their reasoning was sound, it was a couple of years after my Mum had a stroke and she was struggling to get up and down two flights of stairs each day, even getting to the toilet on the half-landing was starting to be an issue.

A ground floor flat made perfect sense.

Dad did most of the clearing and decluttering of the house himself but I helped where I could, including completely emptying the loft on one of the hottest days of the summer, all on my own (my parents were on holiday). By the time they were ready to move they had sold/donated/trashed as much as they could to make their life shrink from a large 3 bedroom semi-detached with a large garage and a shed, into a spacious two bedroom flat with limited storage.

Part of the process included my sister and I taking some items that my parents were happy to pass on – I lay claim to two tapestries of geisha’s my did about 30 yrs ago and that had hung in the living room that entire time – and it was a nice way to take a little of our own personal history with us.

When Dad died, I helped Mum start to clear out his things and we soon figured out who the hoarder of the family was. Driven by pound stores and cheap Amazon deals, we started making little piles of things; 48 pairs of reading glasses, 23 pairs of scissors (varying size), a thin tall set of drawers full of paper and thin card of differing thickness and size (not sure what all that was for), blank DVDs and CDs… and so much more.

The process helped Mum deal with her grief, mostly through shaking her head and laughing at why she’d just found the third set of multi-head screwdrivers, or the second glue gun. Bags of stuff were taken to charity shops, or the dump. And I ended up finding a couple of little reminders of Dad that will mean absolutely nothing to anyone but me.

And now I’m doing the same with Mum’s stuff and the contents of her flat to get it ready to sell.

I’ve taken a couple of small sentimental items, but more important to me was something that I’d never really laid that much stock in before, – or at least not spent much time thinking about them in this way – all the old photo albums.

One photo in particular struck me not because of the composition (it’s a photo of my Dad doing the dishes) but of the instant triggering of memories. I spent about 10 mins just looking at things I’d forgotten all about; the Habitat wallpaper, the wall mounted scales, the old kitchen units with at least 6 layers of paint on them…

It made me think about the photos I take today. It’s so easy to take photos with our phones but I tend to try and make sure to get ‘good’ ones more often than not. Ones that capture the subject well, a nice pose or a smile from my boy, my beautiful wife twirling in her dress, family members framed by the trees as we all go for a walk up the hills.

But I’m realising more and more that it’s the candid ones that show nothing of note that may hold the most value. The memories held in everyday things isn’t something I’d considered until now.

I’ve always been surrounded by photographs. My Dad and my Uncle Bill being keen amateur photographers for a while, I have hazy memories of helping Dad develop some photos at home, and there were slideshows to watch as well. As technology, and life, changed my Dad fell away from the hobbyist approach but still took many photos with a whole host of digital point and shoot cameras over the years.

I too went through a spell of learning how a camera works, trying to improve the pictures I took in the hope that I’d capture great images of landscapes and people. And I took a few good ones but the cycle for me was the same as Dad, once iPhone cameras got good enough it became more of a case of the camera I always had with me, rather than lugging a DSLR around on the off chance of getting a good snap. Add in the whirling dervish that is my son and my iPhone has been my main camera for many years.

I still like to capture ‘good’ images but looking at all the old photos from our family home, I find myself looking more in the background than at the people.

So I’m going to relax a bit and take the photos, capture the every day moments not just when it looks like it might make a good photo (which in my head is loosely defined as, would we print it out and stick it on the wall?).

At the end of all of this though, it doesn’t really matter what the image looks like, how the composition holds up, if the lighting is right or not. Look at the contents of the photo for what they are, memories of times gone by and lives not longer with us.

To trigger any of your richest memories, remember, any photo will do.

It was my sister’s funeral this afternoon.

She died suddenly and unexpectedly a few weeks ago and today was a celebration of her smile, her laughter, and the vivid grasp of life she held for so many years which, sadly, slipped away from her more and more this past year or so.

I somehow managed to speak at her funeral.

Jennie was a little bit Phoebe, a little bit Rachel, and a little bit Monica.

Like Phoebe, Jennie was a little bit ditsy, but always had a sunny demeanour and, like Phoebe, she loved fiercely. If you were one of her people you knew it and, regardless of the occasion, happy or sad, she would embrace you and hug you and make sure you knew how loved you were.

Like Rachel, Jennie loved a party, liked to be fashionable, loved shopping, and was loyal almost to a fault, she never let you down and valued being a good friend.

And as for Monica, I’ll say “Mrs Hinch” although while her home was clean, secretly, Jennie loved the “mess” made by Lucy and Daisy. And like Monica, food was a big part of her life, especially catching the latest episodes of MasterChef.

I wrote those words quite soon after Jennie died as a way of dealing with my grief. The thoughts and words came easily, but then … I stopped. I didn’t know how to go on, didn’t know what else to say, it felt like there was nothing else to write.

And then I realised why. It’s because I’m not supposed to be standing here today.

I’m not supposed to be trying to find the right words, I’m not supposed to be trying to sum up a life cut short.

More recently, I know Jennie had reconnected with many of you and, like me, you may be wondering just how this has all happened. I don’t have any answers for you, and in a way it doesn’t really matter any more.

Because here we all are.

Bemused, bewildered, grieving, numb, angry, upset, and confused.

But, no, that’s NOT why we are here.

We are here to look back and celebrate, to talk of Jennie with a smile on our faces, for there was much to smile about, so many stories to share, so many moments that will live on fondly in our hearts.

From the moment Jennie arrived home at Barloan Crescent she was, understandably, the centre of attention. My childhood memories of Jennie are full of admiration, from her gymnastic displays, to flute lessons and, begrudgingly, I found myself conceding that she was the more musically talented given I spent many years taking piano lessons only for Jennie to sit down one day and, by ear, play a little song by Billy Joel…

I should also mention the endless rewatches of Mary Poppins which she’d put on before school, watching the entire movie over the space of a couple of days… honestly, she wore through the videotape and I think I still know every word of dialogue and every lyric of every song off by heart. I have fond memories of summers in the back garden, even including the time she got me into trouble for soaking her with the hose when she knew, fine well, it was an accident. Memories of family visits to see aunts, uncles, and cousins, the long car trips to Dundee, Christmas visits to Baljaffray, and the “unofficial cousins” in Gourock. The first holidays to campsites in France, and in later years a rather drunken night in Spain where Jennie laughed so much she fell over, and then, of course, the moment she phoned me to tell me I was an Uncle, with a tiny baby Lucy crying away in the background, and more recently asking me to be Daisy’s godfather.

You will all have your own stories and favourite memories of Jennie. Some of them may be stored in one of her epic voice notes, minutes long rambles that she seemed to be able to record without taking a single breath. Of course, as her big brother, my job was mostly to torment her so the stories I tend to recall are about her ‘not so smart’ moments; washing her car with a scourer, wiring a light switch without turning the power off, that kind of thing.

Of course such ditsy moments weren’t limited to family, so, I will just say ‘Loch Lomond Monster’ and leave it at that.

But what was so wonderful about Jennie was that, on each retelling of these stories she would, as ever, take them in good spirit and laugh them off.

That was her way. A smile on her face, even when things were not as rosy as they seemed.

The messages and posts and photos many of you have shared over the past few weeks, tell more stories of how brightly she lived her life and they all say the same things, all paint the same picture of a beautiful, fun, outgoing, happy, smiling, daft girl, who became a wonderful mother, and a loyal friend.

Yet, here we all are.

So, right now, here, today, we will all agree to look forward and keep her with us.

That’s how we will remember Jennie.

We will pick our favourite memories of her and retell them.

We will say her name often and smile.

When Muse comes on the radio we will turn it up to 11.

When the DJ plays the Chemical Brothers we will dance a little harder.

When Whitney Houston starts singing I Wanna Dance with Somebody, we will sing along louder.

And, when we see a carefree butterfly floating by, we will stop and smile, watch it go, and remember that in many ways she will always be with us.

THAT is why we are here today. To take her smile and her spirit and hold it close, as we move on.

Writing this eulogy was hard, the words didn’t always come easy, and nor have they come easy to those who want to express their condolences. As we all know, words are not easy at times like these.

So, in closing, I want to leave you all with a single word, something you can take away from today.

I want to give you a word you might be able to use when … the cat has got your tongue, so you don’t need to dismay when the words don’t come easily.

And all you’ll need to do is just summon up this word.

And then you’ve got a lot to say.

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious

A silly word, a joyful word, and may it always bring a smile to our faces and a happy memory of Jennie to our hearts.

I am now lost, the last remaining member of my direct family. Far too soon. I am taking much comfort with friends and my own little family, Becca, Jack and I are strong and happy. We will prevail.