January 28 will forever be a memorable day in my life. It is the day my mother was born. And it is the day my father died.

Today, my mother should be celebrating her 80th birthday. Instead she died 15 years ago after living with cancer for the nine years prior to that. I can’t picture my mother at 80. In my mind she is eternally somewhere in her 40s and 50s – a time of life that seemed ancient when I was young, but now that I’m becoming more ancient I realise how young it is.

I HAVE A VERY PRECIOUS PHOTO OF HER AS A TEENAGER, HUGGING A KOALA

Her face is glowing with joy and optimism, she looks filled with hope for the future. It’s just a couple of years until she falls in love with a tall handsome man and starts a family. And a few more years after that when she would lose her second baby and a lifetime of sadness would settle softly on her shoulders. And she did have a sad life – for so many reasons. Her journey on this earth was not an easy one.

My mother was creative and extremely house-proud. She was kind, energetic and tireless in her endeavours. Her smile was radiant. She was also very anxious and highly critical. She didn’t always know how to cope with the difficult hands that life had dealt her. But despite the fractious relationship we so often had, I know she adored my children and was a wonderful grandmother. She would have been immensely proud to see them grow into the wonderful young men that they are, to meet their life partners and to be introduced to the most precious new person in our lives, her beautiful great-granddaughter.

While I was relieved when her suffering ended, I am always sad that she is no longer here with us.

MY FATHER HAD A WICKED SENSE OF HUMOUR

I am sure he would have considered it quite funny to die on her birthday. Despite being divorced for more than 20 years, they are now eternally tied together.

While my father also experienced the tragedy of losing not one, but two children, sadness did not define his life. He was the eternal optimist, always looking at the bright side and seeking goodness and happiness. He was fortunate to live until almost 88 years of age, most of his years spent in excellent health. His last two years were marred by cancer and treatments and much like my mother, it was a release and a blessing when he finally passed from this mortal plane.

My father was fortunate to see my children grow into young men and step out into the world as adults. He would have been tickled pink to have seen my son’s Indonesian wedding and to have met his first great-grandchild. But he was always a man who was grateful for the blessings he had and not sorrowful about those he did not have.

Not only was he tall, dark and handsome but he was also kind, generous, passionate, artistic, talented, dedicated and loving. I was enormously bonded to my father long before I can remember.

MUSIC BECAME MY PASSION BECAUSE OF HIS CARE AND GUIDANCE

I am so grateful to have had so many years with such a wonderful man. As he lay dying in a palliative care ward I kept talking to him and playing music. Somewhere along the way, I mentioned my mother’s birthday was soon. He slipped into a coma and held on until the wee hours of the 28th. I will always believe he stayed just long enough to make the day one of the most memorable all year around for me.

Wherever they both are now, I hope they’re smiling and enjoying the day.