Mamma… I miss you every single day—your biting wit, your sage wisdom, your no-bullshit truth-telling, your wildly politically incorrect streak that could clear a room or make it howl with laughter. No one could make me laugh like you. No one could make me feel safe like you. You were irreverent, ahead of your time, beautiful, funny—pure magic. You taught me that conversation isn’t about asking questions—it’s about telling stories. That chocolate for breakfast is always a good idea. That rain is lucky. That every child should have a puppy, an opinion, and manners. That Winnie the Pooh, Alice in Wonderland, and Struwwelpeter are must-reads. I think of Holtside and ghost stories—“Children LOVE to be frightened!”—and ponies called Twinkle, the Dawnchild, and bed time stories and back tickles and the rocket park. When I’m low, I still hear you: chin up, chin up, chin up—like a war cry. I think of drinking wine from a box and dancing to ABBA… of you falling asleep on a chocolate bar, waking up shrieking because it melted on your trousers and you thought you’d 💩 your pants. Of your great sense of style. Your love of animals and nature and your passion for protecting the environment (“Ban the bloody Mylar balloons!”). I think of Paddington and the farm. The sound of rain on a tin roof. You loved your children, your grandchildren, your family—with a fierce devotion. You carried a great sense of purpose, humor, and the mystical—you saw signs in everything: birds, trees, dragonflies, ladybirds, owls (wols) — omens in the smallest flickers of the world. I see your towering tree at Berridge Park, your spirit running through its roots, watching over the farm. I see Oahu Lani. Your blue eyes. The horses. Your little blow-up footstool for long-haul flights so you could cross the world to be with us. You flying from Australia to America just to move me into a house, “doing my bookshelves” until it felt like home. I miss and love you. Every day. Always, in all ways. In the words of the great Winnie the Pooh: “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” 🥹🍯 I love you more’n me luggage 😜 @nannanick ✨✨✨
Mamma… I miss you every single day—your biting wit, your sage wisdom, your no-bullshit truth-telling, your wildly politically incorrect streak that could clear a room or make it howl with laughter. No one could make me laugh like you. No one could make me feel safe like you. You were irreverent, ahead of your time, beautiful, funny—pure magic. You taught me that conversation isn’t about asking questions—it’s about telling stories. That chocolate for breakfast is always a good idea. That rain is lucky. That every child should have a puppy, an opinion, and manners. That Winnie the Pooh, Alice in Wonderland, and Struwwelpeter are must-reads. I think of Holtside and ghost stories—“Children LOVE to be frightened!”—and ponies called Twinkle, the Dawnchild, and bed time stories and back tickles and the rocket park. When I’m low, I still hear you: chin up, chin up, chin up—like a war cry. I think of drinking wine from a box and dancing to ABBA… of you falling asleep on a chocolate bar, waking up shrieking because it melted on your trousers and you thought you’d 💩 your pants. Of your great sense of style. Your love of animals and nature and your passion for protecting the environment (“Ban the bloody Mylar balloons!”). I think of Paddington and the farm. The sound of rain on a tin roof. You loved your children, your grandchildren, your family—with a fierce devotion. You carried a great sense of purpose, humor, and the mystical—you saw signs in everything: birds, trees, dragonflies, ladybirds, owls (wols) — omens in the smallest flickers of the world. I see your towering tree at Berridge Park, your spirit running through its roots, watching over the farm. I see Oahu Lani. Your blue eyes. The horses. Your little blow-up footstool for long-haul flights so you could cross the world to be with us. You flying from Australia to America just to move me into a house, “doing my bookshelves” until it felt like home. I miss and love you. Every day. Always, in all ways. In the words of the great Winnie the Pooh: “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” 🥹🍯 I love you more’n me luggage 😜 @nannanick ✨✨✨
Mamma… I miss you every single day—your biting wit, your sage wisdom, your no-bullshit truth-telling, your wildly politically incorrect streak that could clear a room or make it howl with laughter. No one could make me laugh like you. No one could make me feel safe like you. You were irreverent, ahead of your time, beautiful, funny—pure magic. You taught me that conversation isn’t about asking questions—it’s about telling stories. That chocolate for breakfast is always a good idea. That rain is lucky. That every child should have a puppy, an opinion, and manners. That Winnie the Pooh, Alice in Wonderland, and Struwwelpeter are must-reads. I think of Holtside and ghost stories—“Children LOVE to be frightened!”—and ponies called Twinkle, the Dawnchild, and bed time stories and back tickles and the rocket park. When I’m low, I still hear you: chin up, chin up, chin up—like a war cry. I think of drinking wine from a box and dancing to ABBA… of you falling asleep on a chocolate bar, waking up shrieking because it melted on your trousers and you thought you’d 💩 your pants. Of your great sense of style. Your love of animals and nature and your passion for protecting the environment (“Ban the bloody Mylar balloons!”). I think of Paddington and the farm. The sound of rain on a tin roof. You loved your children, your grandchildren, your family—with a fierce devotion. You carried a great sense of purpose, humor, and the mystical—you saw signs in everything: birds, trees, dragonflies, ladybirds, owls (wols) — omens in the smallest flickers of the world. I see your towering tree at Berridge Park, your spirit running through its roots, watching over the farm. I see Oahu Lani. Your blue eyes. The horses. Your little blow-up footstool for long-haul flights so you could cross the world to be with us. You flying from Australia to America just to move me into a house, “doing my bookshelves” until it felt like home. I miss and love you. Every day. Always, in all ways. In the words of the great Winnie the Pooh: “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” 🥹🍯 I love you more’n me luggage 😜 @nannanick ✨✨✨
Mamma… I miss you every single day—your biting wit, your sage wisdom, your no-bullshit truth-telling, your wildly politically incorrect streak that could clear a room or make it howl with laughter. No one could make me laugh like you. No one could make me feel safe like you. You were irreverent, ahead of your time, beautiful, funny—pure magic. You taught me that conversation isn’t about asking questions—it’s about telling stories. That chocolate for breakfast is always a good idea. That rain is lucky. That every child should have a puppy, an opinion, and manners. That Winnie the Pooh, Alice in Wonderland, and Struwwelpeter are must-reads. I think of Holtside and ghost stories—“Children LOVE to be frightened!”—and ponies called Twinkle, the Dawnchild, and bed time stories and back tickles and the rocket park. When I’m low, I still hear you: chin up, chin up, chin up—like a war cry. I think of drinking wine from a box and dancing to ABBA… of you falling asleep on a chocolate bar, waking up shrieking because it melted on your trousers and you thought you’d 💩 your pants. Of your great sense of style. Your love of animals and nature and your passion for protecting the environment (“Ban the bloody Mylar balloons!”). I think of Paddington and the farm. The sound of rain on a tin roof. You loved your children, your grandchildren, your family—with a fierce devotion. You carried a great sense of purpose, humor, and the mystical—you saw signs in everything: birds, trees, dragonflies, ladybirds, owls (wols) — omens in the smallest flickers of the world. I see your towering tree at Berridge Park, your spirit running through its roots, watching over the farm. I see Oahu Lani. Your blue eyes. The horses. Your little blow-up footstool for long-haul flights so you could cross the world to be with us. You flying from Australia to America just to move me into a house, “doing my bookshelves” until it felt like home. I miss and love you. Every day. Always, in all ways. In the words of the great Winnie the Pooh: “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” 🥹🍯 I love you more’n me luggage 😜 @nannanick ✨✨✨
Mamma… I miss you every single day—your biting wit, your sage wisdom, your no-bullshit truth-telling, your wildly politically incorrect streak that could clear a room or make it howl with laughter. No one could make me laugh like you. No one could make me feel safe like you. You were irreverent, ahead of your time, beautiful, funny—pure magic. You taught me that conversation isn’t about asking questions—it’s about telling stories. That chocolate for breakfast is always a good idea. That rain is lucky. That every child should have a puppy, an opinion, and manners. That Winnie the Pooh, Alice in Wonderland, and Struwwelpeter are must-reads. I think of Holtside and ghost stories—“Children LOVE to be frightened!”—and ponies called Twinkle, the Dawnchild, and bed time stories and back tickles and the rocket park. When I’m low, I still hear you: chin up, chin up, chin up—like a war cry. I think of drinking wine from a box and dancing to ABBA… of you falling asleep on a chocolate bar, waking up shrieking because it melted on your trousers and you thought you’d 💩 your pants. Of your great sense of style. Your love of animals and nature and your passion for protecting the environment (“Ban the bloody Mylar balloons!”). I think of Paddington and the farm. The sound of rain on a tin roof. You loved your children, your grandchildren, your family—with a fierce devotion. You carried a great sense of purpose, humor, and the mystical—you saw signs in everything: birds, trees, dragonflies, ladybirds, owls (wols) — omens in the smallest flickers of the world. I see your towering tree at Berridge Park, your spirit running through its roots, watching over the farm. I see Oahu Lani. Your blue eyes. The horses. Your little blow-up footstool for long-haul flights so you could cross the world to be with us. You flying from Australia to America just to move me into a house, “doing my bookshelves” until it felt like home. I miss and love you. Every day. Always, in all ways. In the words of the great Winnie the Pooh: “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” 🥹🍯 I love you more’n me luggage 😜 @nannanick ✨✨✨
Mamma… I miss you every single day—your biting wit, your sage wisdom, your no-bullshit truth-telling, your wildly politically incorrect streak that could clear a room or make it howl with laughter. No one could make me laugh like you. No one could make me feel safe like you. You were irreverent, ahead of your time, beautiful, funny—pure magic. You taught me that conversation isn’t about asking questions—it’s about telling stories. That chocolate for breakfast is always a good idea. That rain is lucky. That every child should have a puppy, an opinion, and manners. That Winnie the Pooh, Alice in Wonderland, and Struwwelpeter are must-reads. I think of Holtside and ghost stories—“Children LOVE to be frightened!”—and ponies called Twinkle, the Dawnchild, and bed time stories and back tickles and the rocket park. When I’m low, I still hear you: chin up, chin up, chin up—like a war cry. I think of drinking wine from a box and dancing to ABBA… of you falling asleep on a chocolate bar, waking up shrieking because it melted on your trousers and you thought you’d 💩 your pants. Of your great sense of style. Your love of animals and nature and your passion for protecting the environment (“Ban the bloody Mylar balloons!”). I think of Paddington and the farm. The sound of rain on a tin roof. You loved your children, your grandchildren, your family—with a fierce devotion. You carried a great sense of purpose, humor, and the mystical—you saw signs in everything: birds, trees, dragonflies, ladybirds, owls (wols) — omens in the smallest flickers of the world. I see your towering tree at Berridge Park, your spirit running through its roots, watching over the farm. I see Oahu Lani. Your blue eyes. The horses. Your little blow-up footstool for long-haul flights so you could cross the world to be with us. You flying from Australia to America just to move me into a house, “doing my bookshelves” until it felt like home. I miss and love you. Every day. Always, in all ways. In the words of the great Winnie the Pooh: “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” 🥹🍯 I love you more’n me luggage 😜 @nannanick ✨✨✨
Mamma… I miss you every single day—your biting wit, your sage wisdom, your no-bullshit truth-telling, your wildly politically incorrect streak that could clear a room or make it howl with laughter. No one could make me laugh like you. No one could make me feel safe like you. You were irreverent, ahead of your time, beautiful, funny—pure magic. You taught me that conversation isn’t about asking questions—it’s about telling stories. That chocolate for breakfast is always a good idea. That rain is lucky. That every child should have a puppy, an opinion, and manners. That Winnie the Pooh, Alice in Wonderland, and Struwwelpeter are must-reads. I think of Holtside and ghost stories—“Children LOVE to be frightened!”—and ponies called Twinkle, the Dawnchild, and bed time stories and back tickles and the rocket park. When I’m low, I still hear you: chin up, chin up, chin up—like a war cry. I think of drinking wine from a box and dancing to ABBA… of you falling asleep on a chocolate bar, waking up shrieking because it melted on your trousers and you thought you’d 💩 your pants. Of your great sense of style. Your love of animals and nature and your passion for protecting the environment (“Ban the bloody Mylar balloons!”). I think of Paddington and the farm. The sound of rain on a tin roof. You loved your children, your grandchildren, your family—with a fierce devotion. You carried a great sense of purpose, humor, and the mystical—you saw signs in everything: birds, trees, dragonflies, ladybirds, owls (wols) — omens in the smallest flickers of the world. I see your towering tree at Berridge Park, your spirit running through its roots, watching over the farm. I see Oahu Lani. Your blue eyes. The horses. Your little blow-up footstool for long-haul flights so you could cross the world to be with us. You flying from Australia to America just to move me into a house, “doing my bookshelves” until it felt like home. I miss and love you. Every day. Always, in all ways. In the words of the great Winnie the Pooh: “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” 🥹🍯 I love you more’n me luggage 😜 @nannanick ✨✨✨
Mamma… I miss you every single day—your biting wit, your sage wisdom, your no-bullshit truth-telling, your wildly politically incorrect streak that could clear a room or make it howl with laughter. No one could make me laugh like you. No one could make me feel safe like you. You were irreverent, ahead of your time, beautiful, funny—pure magic. You taught me that conversation isn’t about asking questions—it’s about telling stories. That chocolate for breakfast is always a good idea. That rain is lucky. That every child should have a puppy, an opinion, and manners. That Winnie the Pooh, Alice in Wonderland, and Struwwelpeter are must-reads. I think of Holtside and ghost stories—“Children LOVE to be frightened!”—and ponies called Twinkle, the Dawnchild, and bed time stories and back tickles and the rocket park. When I’m low, I still hear you: chin up, chin up, chin up—like a war cry. I think of drinking wine from a box and dancing to ABBA… of you falling asleep on a chocolate bar, waking up shrieking because it melted on your trousers and you thought you’d 💩 your pants. Of your great sense of style. Your love of animals and nature and your passion for protecting the environment (“Ban the bloody Mylar balloons!”). I think of Paddington and the farm. The sound of rain on a tin roof. You loved your children, your grandchildren, your family—with a fierce devotion. You carried a great sense of purpose, humor, and the mystical—you saw signs in everything: birds, trees, dragonflies, ladybirds, owls (wols) — omens in the smallest flickers of the world. I see your towering tree at Berridge Park, your spirit running through its roots, watching over the farm. I see Oahu Lani. Your blue eyes. The horses. Your little blow-up footstool for long-haul flights so you could cross the world to be with us. You flying from Australia to America just to move me into a house, “doing my bookshelves” until it felt like home. I miss and love you. Every day. Always, in all ways. In the words of the great Winnie the Pooh: “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” 🥹🍯 I love you more’n me luggage 😜 @nannanick ✨✨✨
Mamma… I miss you every single day—your biting wit, your sage wisdom, your no-bullshit truth-telling, your wildly politically incorrect streak that could clear a room or make it howl with laughter. No one could make me laugh like you. No one could make me feel safe like you. You were irreverent, ahead of your time, beautiful, funny—pure magic. You taught me that conversation isn’t about asking questions—it’s about telling stories. That chocolate for breakfast is always a good idea. That rain is lucky. That every child should have a puppy, an opinion, and manners. That Winnie the Pooh, Alice in Wonderland, and Struwwelpeter are must-reads. I think of Holtside and ghost stories—“Children LOVE to be frightened!”—and ponies called Twinkle, the Dawnchild, and bed time stories and back tickles and the rocket park. When I’m low, I still hear you: chin up, chin up, chin up—like a war cry. I think of drinking wine from a box and dancing to ABBA… of you falling asleep on a chocolate bar, waking up shrieking because it melted on your trousers and you thought you’d 💩 your pants. Of your great sense of style. Your love of animals and nature and your passion for protecting the environment (“Ban the bloody Mylar balloons!”). I think of Paddington and the farm. The sound of rain on a tin roof. You loved your children, your grandchildren, your family—with a fierce devotion. You carried a great sense of purpose, humor, and the mystical—you saw signs in everything: birds, trees, dragonflies, ladybirds, owls (wols) — omens in the smallest flickers of the world. I see your towering tree at Berridge Park, your spirit running through its roots, watching over the farm. I see Oahu Lani. Your blue eyes. The horses. Your little blow-up footstool for long-haul flights so you could cross the world to be with us. You flying from Australia to America just to move me into a house, “doing my bookshelves” until it felt like home. I miss and love you. Every day. Always, in all ways. In the words of the great Winnie the Pooh: “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” 🥹🍯 I love you more’n me luggage 😜 @nannanick ✨✨✨
Mamma… I miss you every single day—your biting wit, your sage wisdom, your no-bullshit truth-telling, your wildly politically incorrect streak that could clear a room or make it howl with laughter. No one could make me laugh like you. No one could make me feel safe like you. You were irreverent, ahead of your time, beautiful, funny—pure magic. You taught me that conversation isn’t about asking questions—it’s about telling stories. That chocolate for breakfast is always a good idea. That rain is lucky. That every child should have a puppy, an opinion, and manners. That Winnie the Pooh, Alice in Wonderland, and Struwwelpeter are must-reads. I think of Holtside and ghost stories—“Children LOVE to be frightened!”—and ponies called Twinkle, the Dawnchild, and bed time stories and back tickles and the rocket park. When I’m low, I still hear you: chin up, chin up, chin up—like a war cry. I think of drinking wine from a box and dancing to ABBA… of you falling asleep on a chocolate bar, waking up shrieking because it melted on your trousers and you thought you’d 💩 your pants. Of your great sense of style. Your love of animals and nature and your passion for protecting the environment (“Ban the bloody Mylar balloons!”). I think of Paddington and the farm. The sound of rain on a tin roof. You loved your children, your grandchildren, your family—with a fierce devotion. You carried a great sense of purpose, humor, and the mystical—you saw signs in everything: birds, trees, dragonflies, ladybirds, owls (wols) — omens in the smallest flickers of the world. I see your towering tree at Berridge Park, your spirit running through its roots, watching over the farm. I see Oahu Lani. Your blue eyes. The horses. Your little blow-up footstool for long-haul flights so you could cross the world to be with us. You flying from Australia to America just to move me into a house, “doing my bookshelves” until it felt like home. I miss and love you. Every day. Always, in all ways. In the words of the great Winnie the Pooh: “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” 🥹🍯 I love you more’n me luggage 😜 @nannanick ✨✨✨
