Feisty, fun, brave – these are the three words I would choose to describe my friend Amanda, whose funeral is tomorrow. After an arduous, painful and brave battle against cancer she passed away last week, leaving behind a supportive and loving husband and her five year old boy. He is the one I am thinking of today: the deserted survivor; with barely enough years behind him to comprehend the breadth and depth of his own sadness.
Not long ago, she had said that one of her greatest gifts from the big C was its generosity in allowing her at least the time to see her little boy start school. She recognised that in that most precious and depreciating commodity of time, we should value the high points and simply let go of the low.
In life, we are divided into two camps: those who fight for what they want and those who follow what they’re given. Amanda was the contender who put complacent resignation to shame.
I will remember you in your hairdresser’s convertible, roof down, sunglasses on and driving with your perfectly pedicured feet in pink flip flops. And of course, I will remember you for your strength of character, optimism, energy and not least of all, our shared love of clothes.