13 May 1967 to 3 March 2021
This is a page for our wonderful Wife, Mum, Sister, Daughter, Aunt and Friend.
We would love to share memories, photos and smiles that we had during our time together.
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Thoughts
Deborah, our darling girl,
Another year without you here, where you belong
and where you should be. Now I only see you in my dreams. I hug you to
me and hold you tight. I can’t let you go, it breaks my heart that you aren’t
here. Every time we met, there was always your lovely smile and you would
say ‘Hi,’ in that special Deborah way.
Always your Mum. XXX
3rd March 2024
Dear Deborah,
It is difficult for Dad to put into words how he feels, how the family feels. It is
the third anniversary and it doesn’t get any better. Not a day goes past,
when I don’t think about you. Deborah, you are one of the leading lights
and I will never be able to work out how or why this has happened. I like to
think of you in an African/English garden, playing tennis or swimming, in a
garden full of all the plants that you knew and loved; mimosa, paw paw,
apricot, ‘yesterday, today and tomorrow’, lemons and other citrus fruit trees.
Anything African you loved. We are dancing between the showers here but
the sunshine is out. I am thinking of you dancing in the rain, as I know how
you loved to do that.
Love Dad. XXX
3rd March 2024
Dearest Deborah,
Greetings Shamwari,
Well what can I say- it’s been three years since that day, that traumatic last
day, three years but still the flashbacks and sounds sear my mind. It was
one day in your life of 19,654 days, one horrific day. I try and push that day
aside, let it fade into the background and let the other days come into
focus; colourful and vibrant.
We shared 18,587 days on earth together, thousands of days, millions of
memories which conjure up happy images of us dancing by candlelight,
riding bikes along dirt tracks, colouring in the sofa, swimming at Keppel,
sounds of thunder and rain and uncontrollable laughter, smells of mimosa,
Beef Wellington at Wendy’s and my burnt socks, the touch of ribbons and
stolen tree tomatoes, the taste of ‘beat and bake’ and ‘cakes for weirdos’.
Discos, dances, airports, concerts, tennis, churches, camps, sleepovers,
courses, beauty courses, fashion shows, holidays, youth club, National
Trusts, gyms, dog racing, safaris, shows, Manor House, restaurants - as
children and adults we packed in soooo much man! Everywhere I go,
everything I do - I am reminded of you because we went everywhere and
did everything during the 18,587 days we shared together.
On the 24th February, a week before you passed away, I sent you a photo
of our neighbour’s mimosa tree as we grew up with them in Zimbabwe, you
replied, ‘ I love mimosa...’. I have a funny story to tell you, it was your love
of mimosa that influenced me, led me astray and got me in trouble just like
when we were kids. I am blaming you man! Anyways, I have used it as part
of an article I wrote on ‘Neighbours’, you loved my stories, so I have
included an extract of the article below. Deborah, I feel you are with me in
everything I do, and everywhere I go.
Mazvita Shamwari.
Lots of love and hugs, your No 1 sister, Anita (fast one).XXXXX
Missing Among the Mimosas
A figure appeared on the brow of the hill, a tall figure - running - fast -
running fast towards me; white, slim, t-shirt, jeans, trainers, tearing
towards me, arms flailing, legs pumping, chest back, chin forward.
The frantic figure looked familiar, very familiar - it was my husband.
‘Where’ve you been?’ he gasped. ‘You’ve been missing for over an
hour,’ he wheezed. I rang you, I messaged you, I thought you had
been hit by a bus!’
I hadn’t gotten hit by the number 64, I had bumped into a neighbour...
I had wandered along Stanhope Road happy as a cloud, when I came
across a host of golden... daffodils? No, not daffodils - mimosa - three
trees of magnificent mimosa smothered in tiny tufts of heaven scent
blossom, their pom poms of yellow fluttering and dancing in the
breeze, their golden wisps of candy floss tip toeing in the sunshine. I
stood before the splendour and breathed in the wondrous fragrance.
‘Would you like a look round my garden?’ asked the mimosa - that is
when my neighbour emerged from behind its branches.
I did say I would be home for lunch. My husband was actually cooking
lunch, but a tour of my neighbour’s garden would be like stepping into
a candy shop; full of wonder and delight - the baked beans and
scrambled egg would keep.
‘I would love to,’ I said. ‘I’ll just WhatsApp my husband and let him
know.’
It was over an hour later when I resumed my journey - homeward
bound. I made my way along Stanhope Road, my mind mingled with
heavenly scents of Acacia dealbata mimosa. I felt I had just come
back from the Chelsea Flower Show. That is where I met my frantic
husband, frantic because unfortunately he had not received my
WhatsApp message...
3rd March 2024