Yesterday my mother June passed away at the Royal North Shore Hospital. She had been growing increasingly frail for months but had picked up remarkably in the last two weeks. Our daily conversations were lively and she had many spot-on reminiscence's, things I could barely recall myself. She sounded happier than I have heard her in a long while.

But a stroke finally did her in, something that at 95 she could not beat. Her passing was peaceful and not drawn out - a blessing for both her and the family. Nobody wants to see a loved-one wasting away in a bed.

My mum came to Australia with her mother Ivy as 10 pound Poms in 1949. That she wasn't keen on coming was neither here nor there - her mother, as all parents did in those days - assumed control of the circumstances and didn't ask, 'Is this what you want too?' She worked in a bank, made an unhappy marriage to my father, and had five boys. Yes, five!

She was the centrepiece, the rock and very foundation of our lives for decades, despite being mild mannered and often quite shy. She paid the mortgage when my father became sick, worked a number of jobs, travelled, became a jazz afficionado, helped us whenever we asked for help.

I know she didn't lead the life she would have chosen, the sacrifices made that all too difficult. Her life was chosen for her. Now she is gone the world less one kind, self-less person.

I am sure that she returned to God in recent months, rekindling the faith of her teenage years. And I am sure that she will be welcomed by the Lord as one of those special ones called to serve others.