Rare event

Me and all three of my sisters in the same place at the same time.

I may have mentioned previously that my mother donated her body to medical research. That meant no funeral. After some reflection we decided to have a memorial event, and for someone who was a lifelong socialist, 1 May was the perfect choice. We booked a room, hired some local musicians, and my sister A (left) went through mum's address book to send out the invitations. She basically hadn't had a social life in the last few years, and given that she was 95, we were concerned that many of the addressees might not be able to come through infirmity or, frankly, being deceased.

We needn't have worried; something like 50 people showed up. It's kind of weird having a party for people you don't know -- or haven't seen since you were teenagers or even younger. We had to ask a lot of people who they were, but some of them were instantly recognisable. As were we: three out of four of us look so like mum that no name badges were really necessary.

Sister N (3rd from left) is an academic, so her conference organising skills came to the fore. She marshalled everyone, instantly achieved silence when she needed it, and gave a really good 10-minute talk about mum before handing over to three long-standing friends and colleagues who talked about different aspects of her long political career as a councillor, activist, editor, translator, and community organiser. 

We were really pleased with how it went -- the speeches were good (and not too long), there was a constant buzz of conversation, and everyone enjoyed looking at the display of photos done by grand-daughter A, and the Powerpoint slideshow done by sister D (second left). N had even managed to get some media students from the local FE college (of which mum used to be chair of governors), who filmed much of the event and also set up a camera in a side room and interviewed people individually. We were impressed with how professional and discreet they were.

So here we are looking satisfied. Once all was over and we'd cleared up we went back to mum's to raise a glass of Prosecco to her.

Funnily enough, Jamjar was saying goodbye to her dad on the same day.