Mum loved to grow sunflowers in the garden she nurtured in Downey Close. Just as she loved to share that experience with the children who adored her so much. I'm sure Jessica and Amy will carry those memories of "Auntie" Chrissy with them always, knowing the tears that they shed and how saddened they were to lose her when they came to tell me they were sorry.
For this reason I find it somewhat poetic that a flower that Mum chose as her own, one which we carried upon her casket and one which some of you took home with you after the funeral, the sunflower, has been here throughout her journey. The fields of gold seemingly welcoming her arrival in France and Italy, bright and radiant as they faced and shone towards the bus. Then swaying to her arrival in Greece, slowly petering out to just a single one here and there, growing in the midst of barren lands as I approached the border with Turkey. When on arriving in Turkey seeing the fields upon fields, their heads bowed as if in a mark of respect for the return of their friend.
Of course this is no more than the seasons, but then I no more chose the seasons than the sunflowers.
Ah! Sunflower, weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the sun,
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the traveler's journey is done;
Where the youth pined away with desire,
And the pale virgin shrouded in snow,
Arise from their graves and aspire;
Where my sunflower wishes to go
William Blake
