Dan Morris: The bravest lady I ever knew
I’ve been rattling off about birthdays quite a lot recently, yet this week has marked one that it would be abhorrent not to mention.

This Thursday would have been my mother’s 70th birthday.
The bravest woman that I ever knew, she died in 2021 at the age of 66 after a battle with lung cancer.
Hard-faced, warm-hearted, and wickedly funny, she left a hole that I imagined impossible to fill – until, of course, her granddaughter came along.
Warm-hearted, wickedly funny, and, for a two-year-old, already pretty hard-faced, she has replaced her grandmother as the female force of war in my life, and has happily made sure that I’ve never had too much chance to miss her.
Already I see so much of her strength in her, and have never been able to shake the feeling that, from either upstairs or down (my mother could definitely have gone either way), she is watching her, guiding her and teaching her exactly how to keep me on my toes.
One thing is for certain, my mother will never be gone while my daughter is alive.
For that, World, you are welcome. But also, I’m sorry.
When I think about it now I never really imagined my mum as a septuagenarian.
Some people you can easily picture in the advent of their silver years, enjoying a relaxed silver lifestyle, yet I could never quite get that vision of my mother in my head.
Karen Mary Morris loved a flutter on the roulette table and a glass of whiskey, not to mention a fag.
I certainly never foresaw a retirement spent tending to hydrangeas, knitting or busying herself with other tired clichés.

Had she had the chance, my mum would have enjoyed her post-work years at Caesar’s Palace, in a Bet Lynch frock, never, ever, revealing her natural hair colour.
For fun, I do sometimes try to imagine myself when I’ve rounded the 70 mark.
With my tongue firmly in my cheek, I’m hoping that by that time my old back injury is bad enough to validate me carrying a stick.
If so, I fully intend to go big with a diamante-studded dollar sign topper, or something of the ‘Lucius Malfoy snake head’ ilk. Let ‘em know you’re there, always.
I’ve previously let you all in on my desire to keep bees later in life, though I’d also like my silver years to be filled with adventure – as much as possible, anyway.
Often I smile when poring through our newspapers to discover stories of local people doing extraordinary things at a stage in life that only a few years ago would have been laughed out of town.
Great-grandmas are abseiling, octogenarians are jumping out of planes, and inspirational men and women are spending their 90s smashing out charity work rather than deservedly putting their feet up.
It seems to me that those old clichés of knitting and hydrangeas are dead, and if I do need a stick when I’m 70, I’ll be struggling to keep up with those 20 years my senior.
All of this is a long time away for me, and Lord only knows what state the world will be in by then and, indeed, what ‘retirement’ will look like.
Yet I will do my best to follow in the example of those inspirational troubadours that keep our pages bright, and often put people of my age and younger to shame.
In the immortal words of Rob Brydon à la Gavin & Stacey’s Bryn, it isn’t how old you are – it is how you are old.
My mum was taken too soon, and if I am not, I will live la vida loca in my later years for us both.
Happy birthday, old girl. As I said three-and-a-half years ago, a thousand lifetimes wouldn’t be enough to thank you for everything you have done for me – but I promise I will do my utmost with just this one.
Thank you for always being there behind the eyes of my baby girl.
If she grows up to be as brave and beautiful as you were, we will all have hit the jackpot.
And if she inherits your champion right-hook, well that’ll be a Brucey bonus-and-a-half.
Sleep well, but keep on checking in from time to time.
You wouldn’t want me getting too comfortable now would you?
Many happy returns, Mum.