My lovely sister, 1946-2025

This week my much-loved eldest sister, M, died. I want to share with you some memories of her through my life.

In a few weeks it will be 30 years since my mother died from cancer. It was a difficult time – the uncertainty of waiting for test results, the assaults of chemo and surgeries, the time for recuperation. M had trained and practiced as a nurse so she made it her job to see that my mother received the best care. M navigated through all the healthcare decisions, keeping the rest of the family in the loop and explaining every stage. When my mother needed to recuperate for a bit before returning home, M made space in her own home and looked after her.

I was reminded of that time this week. M’s caring and dedication, her clear idea of what had to be done and her willingness to step in. Giving of herself. Now she was the one who needed all our love and care.

Growing up, we were a family of six children. I was the youngest. One sister died in a plane crash 40 years ago, leaving M as the oldest. We were a close family, though as we scattered across the UK we saw each other less frequently. The bonds remained strong.

When M left home to train as a nurse I was still a small child, so I don’t have strong memories of her until later. When she married I was 12 years old. I had my first taste of champagne at the wedding. (I don’t remember but apparently I enjoyed it!). That was the start of a long and happy marriage. A few years later she accompanied her husband when he moved to work in (pre-Ayatollah) Iran for six months and later they lived in Jamaica for a spell. I remember feeling very sad when she went away the first time, as it seemed such a far-off place.

Back in London they lived in a flat in Notting Hill and I remember as a teenager making trips to visit her in school holidays. M was beautiful and stylish as well as loving. She took me to visit smart department stores like Biba’s, Whiteleys, Barkers and other swell places. I remember on one of those trips watching her cooking in the flat – she was making a curry by mixing different spices rather than by spooning out ready-made curry powder. I was amazed to discover all the individual spices that went into it – their smells and colours. I think that set off my own love of cooking with spices. She was a great cook and her meals were always great treats.

I had many happy times visiting M, on my own or as part of family occasions. She and her husband moved house several times – Newmarket, Stansted, Chelsea, Putney, Rye. She was a great home-maker and relished the challenge of creating a new home – reshaping the house, decorating and choosing furnishings. Her sense of style was impeccable and her homes always had her imprint. She was also skilled in many crafts, things I know little about. She took up beading, making beautiful things with tiny beads. At one point she acquired a knitting machine and used it to create amazing clothes. She made me a jumper with a musical staff on the front; on it were the notes of the first phrase of Colonel Bogey. That was my favourite jumper for many years.

In the mid-1990s I started to have more impact in my library career, and received invitations to speak at professional events. I needed to smarten up my image. M took me shopping and helped me to select a new outfit. I still have the lovely double-breasted jacket that we chose. She also suggested a colour scheme that would suit me. I often veer towards that colour palette when I buy clothes even today.

After our mother died I felt closer still to M. I was no longer her baby brother of years gone by but a middle-aged man, so we related more equally. By then she had started her own family but she always had time to listen and talk. When at a late age I came to understand that I was gay, M was the first family member who I told. She was of course lovely, encouraging and reassuring. Tears were shed on both sides. When I found love with my now-husband, M welcomed him into the family. She was one of the witnesses at our Civil Partnership ceremony.

My sister at the Civil Partnership ceremony

M was a very good hostess. She organised family get-togethers and parties for birthdays and anniversaries, always ready to open up their house. Over the years I came to know some of her friends too, through meeting them at her parties.

A few years ago when M and her husband celebrated a major wedding anniversary with a big family lunch, I was moved to stand up and make an impromptu short speech. I’m not good at spontaneous speechifying but the urge to speak overcame any nervousness. I told them that their relationship had been a firm point for me – they were so solid all my adult life – and I thanked them for their generosity to friends and family.

The last few years were hard for M. Four or five years ago she started complaining of a sort of brain fog. Slowly her speech became more restricted. It wasn’t obvious at first but in conversation she would repeat what you said. Later she would repeat just one particular phrase in response to anything you said. Diagnosis was very slow, but eventually we learnt that this was due to Primary Progressive Aphasia, a form of dementia that affects speech especially. This robbed her of the ability to communicate.

Slowly her world shrank as she could not talk or read, then she could not cook or do her craftwork. Later on her condition affected her ability to swallow, making eating a very slow process. Life became very complicated and increasingly fragile. She was cared for at home almost the whole time of her illness, by family and excellent carers, one in particular was so devoted and caring.

I tried to visit M regularly over the last couple of years. It was hard to see her so changed but it was heartening when she recognised me and gave a smile. She was still there inside, responding to loved ones but unable to tell us what she was feeling or thinking.

Last week M caught an infection and over the weekend it became serious. She was taken to hospital. Antibiotics did not help. Her family and close friends came to be with her, and I was able to be with her too on Tuesday. Early in the following morning she passed away.

Grief comes in waves and it’s still hard to accept that M is gone. Writing this has helped me I think. I’m sure everyone who knew M will have their own memories and stories of special times with her, and times when she has helped them. M was important to all of us, inspiring love and loyalty in all who knew her.

I remember that when the Guggenheim Bilbao first opened in 1997 we talked about travelling there together to visit it. Of course M was interested and knowledgeable about art and architecture. Sadly we never did see that plan through. I think I must make that trip soon, in her memory.