Keeping Bec Close

It’s hard to write about my daughter, Bec, in the past tense, but I want to begin with who she was, and what she built, before I say anything about what cancer took.

If you ever met her, you probably remember the details: the way she always looked polished, not flashy, just effortlessly classy, and the way she could walk into a room and make it feel calmer and warmer, like she’d quietly adjusted the lighting in the whole place.

She created beauty for a living in the world of interior design and home decorating, and she gathered people as she went: friends, clients, colleagues, relationships that never felt transactional because that simply wasn’t who she was.

And underneath all of it was her family: the love she gave, the loyalty she lived by, the way she showed up. She built a life with grace and substance, and I don’t want grief to erase that.

And now she’s gone, and I’m learning that grief isn’t one feeling. It’s a whole weather system that moves in without asking. Some moments I can function and even laugh, and then a second later I’m undone by something ordinary.

Lately, it’s not a song or a place. It’s her beautiful family, trying so hard to cope with a loss that never should have been theirs to carry. I watch them doing their best, holding it together, and it breaks my heart all over again because I can’t fix it for them, and I can’t take their pain away.

I miss her in the loud ways people expect, but also in the quiet ways no one sees: the tiny reflex to pick up my phone and tell her something, the ache of realising there’s nobody on the other side of that habit anymore.

I don’t have tidy words for this, and I’m not trying to make it sound better than it is. I’m writing because she mattered, because love doesn’t switch off when a body is gone, and because I need a way to keep Bec close without pretending this doesn’t hurt.

What I’m learning is that grief doesn’t move in a straight line, and it doesn’t respond to logic, productivity, or “being strong.” It arrives in waves, sometimes gentle, sometimes brutal, and it can live right alongside ordinary life.

I can be proud of Bec and shattered without those two things cancelling each other out.

I’m also learning that people often don’t know what to say, and I’m trying to make room for that, while still protecting my heart. If I seem quiet, it isn’t because I’ve stopped loving her or stopped missing her. It’s because I’m carrying her everywhere I go.

And somehow, in the middle of all this pain, I’m starting to understand that remembering her isn’t what keeps me stuck; it’s what keeps me connected.

---

8 Ways We’re Keeping Bec’s Memory Alive

1. Living rituals (small, repeatable, healing)

• Her day ritual: On her birthday, or another meaningful date, do one thing she loved

  • Cook her favourite meal

  • Play “her” song

  • Visit a place she loved

    
    

• The “3 stories” dinner: At a family meal, everyone shares:

  • A funny story

  • Something she taught them

  • Something they miss this week

    
    

• Candle and sentence: Light a candle and say one sentence out loud:

  “Today I’m carrying you with me when I…”

  
  

• Seasonal tradition: Each season, do one repeating act, such as spring flowers, a summer picnic spot, an autumn bake, or a winter ornament.

---

2. Create a “Memory Home”, so her story doesn’t scatter

• A shared photo album, such as Google Photos or iCloud, that the family can add to\

• A “Remembering her” folder with:

  • Favourite photos

  • Voice notes and videos

  • Recipes, letters, and texts

  • Scans of cards and handwriting

    
    

• A yearly printed photo book, one per year, so it’s tangible

• Screen her slideshow at special occasions

• A memory box with physical items, such as a scarf, perfume, a note, and small keepsakes

---

3. Write her into the family’s everyday language

• Keep using her name. (Say “Bec”, as this is often what people avoid.)

• Keep her sayings alive. Write down her phrases and quirks, and deliberately repeat them.

• “What would Bec say?” moments: When making a family decision, ask gently:

  • “What would she want for us right now?”

---

4.  Legacy projects (choose ONE and keep it simple)

• A scholarship or small annual gift in her name, because small still counts

• A donation tradition to a cancer support charity on a specific date

• A fundraiser that matches her personality:

  • Bake sale

  • Walk

  • Music night

  • Lunch for a cause

    
    

• Volunteer hours as a family once a year (as one afternoon counts)

• Continue to stay in contact with all her special friends

---

5. Food-based tributes, because food connects people

• A recipe tribute series: “Cooking what she loved” (with one recipe + one memory)

• A family recipe card set with her favourites, including a short story on each card

• Name a dish after her, (if that feels right) and tell the story behind it

• A “Sunday table” tradition: one meal a month where the intention is connection, not perfection

---

6. For her children and grandchildren, age-friendly memory keeping

• A “Letters to Bec” jar: Family members write notes and read them on special days.

• A storybook of her life: Short chapters like:

  • The things she loved

  • The jokes she told

  • What she was brave about

    
    

• A tradition item: A quilt or blanket made from her clothes, or a charm with a symbol of her.

---

7. A place to visit, without making it heavy

• Plant a tree or rose (a living marker that changes each year)

• A bench or plaque in a meaningful spot

• A small “peace corner” at home with a photo, candle, one object, and one sentence

---

8. Protect your heart, boundaries that help

• Give people guidance: “I’m okay to talk about her. Please say her name.”

• Have a gentle exit line ready: “I’m glad we remembered her. I need a breather now.”

• Plan for grief spikes (including anniversaries, medical places, and songs) by deciding in advance:

  • Who you’ll text

  • Where you’ll go

  • What helps, such as a walk, tea, music, or quiet

---

If you’re reading this and you don’t know what to say to someone who’s grieving, you don’t need perfect words.

Say her name. Tell a story. Remember her with us.

Because for the families left behind, love doesn’t end. It changes shape, and we learn, slowly, how to carry it.

If you are reading this and you have suffered the same pain and loss, I hope that this has helped you to move forward and celebrate the memory of your loved one.

RIP Bec

Love, Mum