This is going to be a difficult one to write and maybe even to read. I, and you, may have to suspend the usual expectation of combined jollity and ranting that I usually try to pen. I expect some of you will wonder why I decided to write about this very personal moment but for me it will hopefully be a little cathartic and my Sis and Brother-in-Law (hereinafter referred to as the BinLaw) suggested I should go ahead.

My Mum died on Thursday 27th January 2011 at about eight in the evening.

In July 2010 my Mum was diagnosed with a sarcoma on her left lung. A bit unusual as, I’m told, sarcomas are normally a young person’s affliction and usually start in the legs rather than lungs, but there you go. Naturally we, my sister, BinLaw, her grandchildren and the rest of the family, were all very worried and upset/shocked but after manifold tests (and I thought IT had the jump on TLAs!!) the “furball” was pronounced operable and Mum underwent a pretty major operation in October which went well. Clearly she had a bit of difficulty with the analgesics, morphine I suppose, and the green frogs coming through the keyhole of her ward door gave her a bit of a fright now and then but she was able to proudly announce to anyone who’d listen that her anaesthetist was quite hot and she really fancied him.

After a couple of weeks bed rest, she was allowed home to her flat and all seemed to be going quite well. I’d received a birthday present and exchanged silly Christmas gifts (not a Tesco scarf!) and visited her a few times. All was well and she was clearly on the road to recovery, with the medics pronouncing that the cancer did not persist.

However, a few days before Christmas my sis called to say she’d had to bring Mum to her house to look after her as she was a little confused about things. Mum had a bit of a fever and in older people that can sometimes affect clarity of thought so we weren’t too worried. However on Christmas Eve my sis called to say that she’d had to take Mum into the hospital as things were getting worse and way beyond her own ability to cope. At about 9:30pm I got the call from my sis which presaged the end – Mum had a brain tumour.

Over the next few weeks I went up from London to Edinburgh at every opportunity. The doctors were quite clear – there would be no recovery and probably no remission and after a couple of weeks in hospital Mum was moved to St Columba’s Hospice, a much nicer and more gentle place than a hospital.

Sadly the doctors were right, and Mum didn’t make a miracle recovery. I spent my last weekend with my Mum holding her hand and telling her how much my sis and I loved her. She asked my if I thought she’d been a good Mum and I told her she had been the best mother I could have wished for. Mum knew she was going and made no protests. My last words to her were that she’d soon be with her own beloved father and mother.

Mum died a few days later with my sister holding her hand and resting her head on the pillow next to her.

We were devastated. Mum had always been our rock and throughout her life she remained dignified and strong no matter what vicissitudes beset her. She dealt with her death the same way. A dignity and strength I can only aspire to. A dignity and strength reflected in the way her loving and lovely grandchildren carried themselves throughout her illness and, ultimately, her death.

Knowing death may be coming meant that Mum had a chance to talk to my sister and me about what she wanted as far as the funeral went. This was done with the same grace and humour as she’d shown in all the time I knew her. The theme was to be pink and as environmentally friendly as possible.

So, my sis and BinLaw put into place the arrangements discussed with Mum, all the while consulting with me to make sure I was comfortable with what they were planning. Comfortable? I was a little bewildered!

The Girlfriend (who has been totally brilliant in supporting me through all of this and dealing with my fits of grief and even-more-than-usual irritability) and I flew up to Edinburgh last Sunday and after a very emotional welcome from my sis went for dinner to drown sorrows and to remember Mum in the traditional Scots way – loads and loads of black humour and ribald stories, a sort of pre-funeral wake if you will. We did take the precaution of not getting too drunk – not sure that your Mum’s funeral would go too well with a hangover.

The following day we prepared for the big event, and turned up at my sister’s house to meet a few of the rest of the family – grandchildren and close friends. In pink ties, scarves, cardigans, jackets and even kilt socks! Well, Mum wanted pink, she was going to get pink. My sis, BinLaw and The Girlfriend were collected by a car and driven to a holding area just outside the crematorium where we were to wait for the hearse.

Now, I’ve seen some things in my life that’ve made me do a double take, but never ever before have I ever seen what I saw that day and I’ll be amazed and amused if I ever see it again. Very slowly, probably due to the dictats of pomp and circumstance as much as the potholes in Edinburgh’s roads, a Jaguar hearse started to pull passed us, I nodded to the driver and his (living) passenger and then, slowly, the, erm, glazed section inched into view. It contained my Mum, or, more accurately, it contained my Mum in her coffin, which was…

…the brightest pink I’d ever seen!!!

This was way beyond hot pink, much stronger than neon pink, candy-floss pink was literally a pale comparison. There’s no explaining it and computer monitors probably can’t even display it. We all looked on and the only sound was me saying “Bloody hell, that’s very PINK!” and all of us laughing.

The service itself was great – my best mate from school read a poem beautifully, thanks Mark, my Sis and I spoke – she very movingly and myself, hopefully, with a degree of humour – and BinLaw recited another poem at the end which moved us all to tears. Mum got a good send off surrounded by those who loved her, her family and friends from all stages in her life.

On Monday 7th February 2011 about sixty people dressed in various hues of pink said goodbye to my 4’9″ Mum who was lying there in a 6’6″ bright pink cardboard coffin.

She would have loved it.