My mum died recently, at 91, surrounded by the love she’d felt for her entire nine decades. While her death was quite sudden in the end, it had been a long goodbye. She first showed signs of dementia 16 years ago. It felt as though her recent infection simply placed the final piece of a puzzle we’d been assembling all these years - grieving her all along as we lost her, piece by piece.

Since her death, we’ve been reminiscing as we pour through boxes of old photos, letters and keepsakes, while putting together some photos for the memorial service. It can’t help but pull you up. As I’m up late at night sorting through the images, I’m struck by just how much love and happiness she radiated - hoping I’ll leave the same legacy.

Having a parent with an inherited illness like dementia also gives me pause. We can’t predict the length or quality of our future. After losing my husband unexpectedly in his 50s, I know life is short. A long life is not guaranteed. Going through a pandemic, we learnt that our opportunities can be cut short without warning. We can’t be sure we’ll have chances to travel or catch up with people we love who live far away or even throw ourselves into certain professional opportunities. Yet we get complacent about the time we imagine we have to do what really matters.