Months after Mum's death, when I looked at the Leunig prayer we'd put on the cover of the funeral programme - "Love one another and you will be happy. It's as simple as that.  There is no other way" - I wondered what had motivated us to use those words.

At the time everything was a bit of a blur but I think watching anyone suffer and struggle to survive, especially your own mother, can only show you the depth of your love. 
But, it also had to do with something Mum used to say to me.  Many times she'd end a discussion with: "Well, all that really matters is love."

I used to think she was getting a bit sappy, but it was just that I didn't know then how true her words were.  When I first heard her say it, Mum was energetic and fit, someone whom I could always rely on and who I knew loved me and all of her family very much.

And she loved life too.  She was one of its great enthusiasts and participators.  She was one of those people who'd go off to a neighborhood meeting and come home President or Secretary or another Board or local organization.  When we were kids, she'd have us helping with Meals on Wheels in the school holidays and with other community projects and charities.

It was good for us, she'd tell us, to give up a bit of our time for others and to try and see the good in everyone.  For example, when we'd complain about someone bothering us at school, she'd often say, "I don't think they've had an easy time."  It was amazing how She could always look at things from the other person's point of view.

For most of her life, Mum had enormous energy.  She'd whip around the tennis court like a 20-year-old.  With Dad she traveled to India, Europe, the USA and the Middle East and in her mid-50s she began a theology degree.  So naturally, when she told me the results of her tests showed a lymphoma query, I felt terrible. 

"But you'll be all right Mum?" I sobbed into the phone.

"Well, we don't really know yet, but all these things are treatable these days.  We just have to remain positive," she answered encouragingly.

Despite my mother's efforts to calm me, I could not bring myself to feel positive and I could not get the images of funerals our of my mind.

The day before she went into the hospital we all went to her graduation ceremony.  Mum had always loved these ceremonies. It wasn't so much the tradition, but more the atmosphere of learning that inspired her.  As she received her degree, we cheered.  Looking back the next day, as she lay frail and week in her hospital bed, we wondered how she'd made it.

Mum's room filled up with cards and flowers - beautiful poppies and freesias.  One friend dropped in each day to put a fresh bowl of camellias on the window sill.  For her birthday, all she wanted was some "nice notepaper" on which to write to thank everyone.

But things didn't go too well for her.  Ten days after admitance to the hospital, Mum was in intensive care with a tube down her throat and couldn't speak.  But that still didn't stop her.  When I arrived she gestured for some paper and a pen.  "Sorry to worry you," she wrote.

"Oh Mum," I said, and sat and held her hand.  Tears streamed down my face, a few gentle ones down hers.  I didn't want her to go, not yet.

Two weeks later Dad rang to say there was excitement at the hospital as Mum was coming out of intensive care.  Very gradually she started to improve.  After weeks of getting her "steak and veggies" through a drip, she started to eat real food.

She began to put on weight and with help, could walk again.  She started getting a bit cranky at Dad, which we thought was a good sign.

Soon after her turn for the better, the hospital staff said Mum might come home for a weekend.  Mum and Dad were cautiously excited, and Mum was especially looking forward to being able to see all her spring bulbs in bloom and the magnolia tree that she loved so much.

More positive images started to appear in my mind.  I imagined Mum in the garden, secateurs in hand, pruning the roses.  I dreamed she had a game of tennis, and had visions of Dad making his customary speech at Christmas time, saying how thankful we were for her recovery.

But she never did get home that weekend.  Instead, I took some photos of the garden she loved.  But she never saw those photos either.

As she drew her last breaths, Dad kept kissing her and saying: "Keep in touch darling, keep in touch."  I held her hand and stroked the wedding and engagement rings she'd worn for 34 years. 

You were right, Mum.  ALL THAT MATTERS IS LOVE and your love will truly be with me forever.