Did I ever tell you how cool I thought you were?
My big cousin.
When we used to come and visit you, you would let me sit in your room.
It smelled or hairspray and sweet perfume.
Your DM boots lined up by your bedroom door.
You always said you’d get married in Doc Martens and I knew you would because you were just so cool.
Your walls were filled with posters of popstars like Morten Harkey and Bon Jovi.
All songs I knew, but had never seen their androgonous faces before.Knowing you loved them, they became part of my playlist from that point on.
It’s your face I see each time they play.
Mum used to let us walk into the towns high street with you, and whilst to me you were so grown up, being out with you felt forbidden and it used to be so cool.
I’d walk in your shadow wishing I’d have your confidence.
In summer you would come to stay with us.
Visits to the beach, muddy walks and in secret you would play Barbie’s with me. You said it was to keep me happy, but secretly I think you enjoyed it. You were cool like that.
Each visit left me wanting to grow up to be just like you.
Life got busy and whilst I didn’t see you as often as before, each time we met you were always interested in what I had to say. Your kindness shone through.
And even when life got tough you always remained positive and at the helm of the ship, supporting your children, your family and all those around you.
So when I hear how brave you were to the end it doesn’t surprise me how you took it all in your stride.
Never burdening others with your anger or fears of how cruel cancer could be.
I hope when my time comes I face it with the same strength and dignity as you.
I hope to be that cool.
It breaks my heart that we won’t see you again. That all family meets will have a void.
A gaping wound from the space you filled in all our lives.
That your babies will be missing their mum from this point on.
But I promise, each time I see them, to tell them that you were always just so cool.