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As my mother passed away in November 2025, I held her hand as she exhaled for the last time and felt her final heartbeat. In that moment, I realised how much more I had wanted to say to her—how many stories of her life I still didn’t know.
While sorting through her house, cluttered with cards, books, and photographs, I came across an old exercise book filled with her handwriting—snippets of memories, fragments of dreams.
Though the writing itself wasn’t polished, I quickly understood how deeply important those words were to her. They were pieces of her life, captured in her own voice. I knew then that I had to preserve them in this short memoir.
Throughout Rose’s life, memories often resurfaced unexpectedly—sparked by a word, a situation, or even a dream. She would write them down as they came, raw and immediate, recording how she saw the world and how certain moments had shaped her thoughts, choices, and fears.
This memoir isn’t about Rose’s writing ability—it’s about her life. She had only just begun a writing course for the pleasure of it, never imagining that these spontaneous recollections would one day come together to reveal a much larger story.