Introductory remark

I’m speaking on behalf of myself and Anna, her husband Nick and my girl, Tair.

You all know Mum from her many walks of life. We’d like to tell you about the Sue that we know.

Mum was a great mentor

She could listen to you speak about something for an hour, then tell you exactly what you meant to say, and how you meant to say it.

She was a great teacher because she was a great listener.

She could ground anything that you told her in what she already knew but, most of all, she could build confidence in you.

Mum was a great critic

When Anna and I would embark on another 3.5-hour episode of semi-improvisational theatre, Mum could always find that critical moment at which to call, “OK, that’s enough, wrap it up.”

Mum was a great manager of people

She could administrator a policy – there was rarely karate in the kitchen

But her approach was usually to sweeten the deal. She sent presents to nieces and nephews because she knew that kids like to get mail. And so they all loved her too.

Mum was a great aesthete.

She liked to find the finer things in life.

She knew when it was time for a G&T; that dessert left out from the night before made for a perfectly good breakfast.

And she was stylish.

At Anna’s Year 5 parent-teacher interview, Anna bet a friend that Mum would show up in her notorious Batman stockings. And indeed, the Dark Knight did rise that day, much to Anna’s embarrassment.

Mum believed in proper conduct

Though she liked men who say “fuck” at inauspicious times.

Perhaps one of the most enduring images that we have of her is with a little red nose, tears streaming down her face.

She might be crying from laughter, sword fighting Dad with breadsticks in Venice after a single glass of wine.

Or she may have taken in one of cinema’s great tragic moments—like Mrs Doubtfire, or the Kleenex ad with the puppy that was “just so brave”.

Mum was ambitious

She had ambitions to take my girlfriend into the family before I did.

And she was a great strategist.

It was when Tair and I were in Japan that her diagnosis came. She didn’t hesitate to use that as a ploy to extract vacation photos.

When she decided that Anna’s boyfriend Nick was probably here for keeps, she set out to woo him into the family using flattery, generosity, the world’s biggest pot of lollies. And it worked.

She lived out her ambition to have a grandchild.

And she loved being nanny, though she was typically selfless in the role. When Anna came home from the hospital, Mum would drive from Williamstown to Abbotsford every day to score new baby hugs. If they weren’t available, she’d stay at the house, cook and clean for the new family because, she’d say, “it’s not easy being a new mum”.

Concluding remarks

I said that I’d let you in on the Sue that we knew. But of course, you know this Sue.

It’s the Sue that was entirely devoted to her family.

And we, her family, were daily amazed at how lucky we were to be at the center of this remarkable woman’s world.

You know this Sue because she built us into her world.

And because she was a mother, mentor and friend to so many who remain an enduring part of our family.

Really, when Mum was diagnosed, it was her relationship to Dad that crystalized in the most beautiful way.

By responding the way he knew how, researching her condition, Dad bought us 17 valuable months.

More importantly, Dad responded in ways that he didn’t know he knew how, to a journey that was then unchartered.

He provided the most exceptional loving care and we saw Mum revert to a young girl totally and madly in love. We want to take this opportunity to thank him for that.

I’ll stop here, because I can hear mum faintly in the distance calling, “Ok darling, well done, that’s enough.”