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Sara slipped through our fingers and out of this world with no warning. No word of what was happening to her. One minute we were talking (about the pink of her nail polish. Glamorous till the end!) and the next she was on the floor.

From there it’s a blur of phone calls and ambulances and tears and false promises that she was going to be fine.

When she left us, she left behind three small children. They were four and nine (twins). Three amazing children who’d kissed their mamma goodbye that morning, in a flurry of “Have you got your coat and bookbag? HURRY!!” never knowing it would be for the last time.

They never saw her again.

She left behind a sister who was her right arm. She left behind a mum and dad who could never say her name without smiling.

And she left me behind too.

Since she left us, I have had two more children that she will never meet. One is named after her. It’s not enough but it was all I could do.

Today I shall wear her scarf, listen to her song. I will think of her family. I will squeeze my own family tighter than normal. I will treasure the honour of reading them to sleep.

Today I will remember her in all her glory. She was so impossibly pretty, and funny and kind.

We were always too busy to make proper time for one-another. It was all snatched lunch-breaks. Wolfing down bagels as we raced back to the office. Laughing at our un-ladylike chomping.

Make no mistake. She was a lady.

Today I will not be too busy for her. I will not tweet and I will not write. I will take this day to remember and cherish and grieve.

Please take a second to hold your babies close for her today.


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