Dear Mum, aka Betty Boo,
As I write this, you’re probably in the family room back in Gisborne, whipping a weighted hula hoop around your waist while watching a recording of EastEnders. For 30 minutes, you don’t stop. The washing is already done, the garden is tended to, Dad’s breakfast and lunch are made, and a coffee date with an old friend is scheduled in before the grandkids arrive after school. At 74, you don’t – and won’t – stop. You’re strong, formidable and amazing. You’re an inspiration and I adore you.
I was your baby, the last of four aged five and under. I don’t know how you did it. Cooking, cleaning, driving, paying, counselling, supporting, coaching … on repeat every day. You never stopped. But you never complained…
