My love for you is eternal. I will always remember you, and honour you every day. I love you Ma.
She was one of the most intelligent people in the world – She was a member of Mensa, with an IQ similar to that of Einstein. Yet, she never spoke down to you; and is it not telling - that our society is broken, when she was left with nothing in the end – always being paid a minimum wage, on a temporary contract. Similar to Nikola Tesla, her ideas were unheard, her dreams unrealized, and her hard work unrewarded, countless fruitful thoughts and opportunities missed; a perfect example of the failure of man and our current society.
The impoverished genius; only speaking with her about new thoughts and ideas, could you understand her perspective of the world – in a few brief moments, she could describe quantum physics; entanglement, the beauty of the baud, the properties of the atom, and the electron, and magnetism. The difference between Nuclear fusion and Fission, and entropy of entangled states.
No moniker or name applied to you was ever warranted, and even those attributed to you by insufferable idiotic kin were wrong. They will forever be a poignant reminder of the pain and suffering you had to unnecessarily endure in life; and yet ultimately gave everything for us.
How do you honour your parents? What would you do for them? My mother worked so hard in life, was always intelligent, bright and positive – even through all my father put her through, she gave all she could for us; she was a single mother, working two jobs, dealing with a violent, abusive, drug addicted, alcoholic partner and toxic abusive parents.
You have earned this. In days of old, we would bury our highest status dead with kilos of gold, only for it to later be taken from them, by grave robbers or museums acting upon the orders of the crown.
So for you, I am trading gold, to reserve your position onboard three space flights - for your ashes to be sent up and spread amongst the stars; as you requested.
The first flight will leave the bonds of Earth to traverse the sky, experiencing the cosmic rhythms of sunrise and sunset into orbit; where it remains until it eventually after many years re-enters the atmosphere, turning into a shooting star, in the night sky in a final ultimate tribute to you.
The second flight will place your remains onto the surface of our nearest planets — the Moon — creating a permanent memorial on a distant, but constantly viewable neighbour, for all eternity.
The third flight will be for many, the notion of a final voyage in space - permanently traversing the cosmos - offers the most appropriate memorial for a life devoted to us. Your remains will be sent into deep space, leaving the Earth-Moon system on an infinite journey.
The final remainder of your ashes will be distributed over the earth; so you can be part of the wind, the rain, the dusk and the dawn. My love for you is eternal; prepare for your eventual rebirth and to be born again, we will make it so; I promise you.
Nicky was a complex woman. She was a classically trained dancer who loathed the physical arts, a painter who disliked going to galleries, and an author who took little pleasure in modern fiction.
This is to say that she was an outsider, both in her artistic pursuits and her approach to life.
Nicky never truly felt comfortable in the world nor did she care for how she perceived it to be changing around her.
There was one thing that she did greatly care for and that was her two sons. In her role as a mother to us, she found great joy.
Nicky worked tirelessly to provide for us and to make sure that we were availed of every potential opportunity.
She was protective of us, often trying to ensure that the world wouldn't hurt us in the ways that it did her.
She was loving of us, making sure that we lived a household of warmly felt emotion.
She was proud of us, letting it be known to us and to anyone she met how much our achievements meant to her.
She was supportive of us, always taking our side even when we were in the wrong.
A story comes to mind from my teens;
I had skipped school, staying home to play computer games. Around lunch time, I heard her coming up the stairs and thinking on my feet, I curled up in the bathtub with the shower curtains drawn around me. When she came up to the flat, she found my school clothes on the floor and began searching for me but ultimately unsuccessful.
That evening when she came back home, she confronted me and asked if I'd been hiding somewhere. I couldn't suppress my grin and told her the truth.
She struggled not to laugh and rather than being upset, was impressed and couldn't find it in herself to chastise or punish me.
Nicky is survived by both me and Fletcher through whom she will live on.
My drive and confidence come directly from how she raised me and I'll try to honour her by making the most of these traits she gave me.
If I could speak to her today, I would thank her for everything she did and tell her that she can rest easily knowing both of her sons are prospering.
Rest in peace, Mum.