I am John's uncle - Clare's "uncle-in-law", I suppose, if there is such a title. Clare is in my thoughts at this time because one year ago she and John and Jack and Ben came to Dublin from Kenya on the first stage of their holiday before going on to Congresbury. They stayed with me for about a week and were guests at my surprise 70th birthday celebrations. It was a joyous occasion and I was so pleased they had come. The time they spent in Dublin was brief but filled with happiness and lots of laughter. I can see Clare's smiling face now. Clare never returned to Kenya. At the time it had not entered her thoughts that she wouldn't. She had a problem with her foot and limped a little but she gave no indication that it worried her in any way. And as the terrible disease took hold and raced through her body she showed remarkable fortitude. I stayed with them in their new home in Congresbury for periods in December and January and remember with admiration Clare's strength of mind as she struggled with the simple physical tasks of daily living that we all take for granted. And through it all she was able to direct her household; her mental capacity as sharp and clear as ever. I last saw Clare a few weeks before she died, lying in the Hospice bed, John, Jack and Ben by her side. Serene, her smile more tranquil now but bright as ever. There is a terrible sadness about an untimely death. We ask what might have been. Clare had such a full and fruitful life but far too short. It will reach fulfilment in the years ahead in the lives of her children. I came across this piece from a poem by Lord Byron: "Whom the gods love, die young" was said of yore And many deaths do they escape by this: The death of friends and that which slays even more, The death of friendship, love, youth, all that is, Except mere breath. And since the silent shore Awaits at last even those whom longest miss The old archer's shafts, perhaps the early grave Which men weep over, may be meant to save.