Deep Life Reflections
Issue 98 - Ballerinas
This week’s Deep Life Reflections is a deeply personal one. My beloved mother, Jane, passed away in the early hours of January 25 after a courageous 18-month battle with Alzheimer’s disease. She was kind, compassionate, intelligent, and strong—qualities that shaped not just my life, but those of everyone who knew her.
I thought about the best way to honour Mum’s memory this week. She loved to read and reflect—and was one of my biggest supporters when I launched Deep Life Journey and Deep Life Reflections. Every Friday, this space has always been one of reflection, and there’s no moment in life that invites deeper reflection than loss—especially the loss of a mother.
Mum wouldn’t have wanted fanfare, but I think she’d be okay with me sharing these words with you. As a nurse, she understood care, healing, and the cathartic power that words can bring in times of grief.
Grief is a strange thing. It arrives in waves, some small, some tidal. I know many readers have experienced the devastating loss of a parent. It releases a flood of emotions, but one of the most surreal is realising you now exist in a world without someone who has always been there.
More than grief, I feel gratitude—for the life she lived, the lessons she taught, and the love that remains. This past week, as we’ve come together as a family, we’ve shared memories and moments that capture who Mum truly was.
And I’d like to celebrate them this week.
Perhaps you’re going through something similar, or have already taken this painful journey. If so, I hope there is something of comfort in the words I share. Mum always wanted to lighten the load of another, and it’s in this spirt that I dedicate this week’s issue of Deep Life Reflections to her.
Ship Inn, Saltburn beach, North Yorkshire
By local artist Ian Parkinson. Saltburn was one of Mum’s favourite places to visit.
Jane Lesley Lockerbie
A loving wife to Allan, a kind-hearted Nana to Rowan and Anya, a nurturing sister to Pat and twins Ian and David, and a wonderful mother to me and my sister Georgina, Jane passed away peacefully in the early hours of January 25 after a courageous 18-month battle with Alzheimer’s disease. Allan, her devoted husband of more than twenty years, was by her side as she took her last breath. She was calm, peaceful, and surrounded by love.
Jane lived a full and meaningful life, defined by kindness, compassion, intelligence, and strength. She dedicated herself to caring for others, spending more than 40 years in nursing, including roles as a staff nurse, practice nurse, and with Marie Curie, which she found particularly special, supporting elderly patients with conditions like dementia. Her empathy, thoughtfulness, and caring nature made her an exceptional nurse who had a lasting impact on the lives of those she cared for. In mid-life, she earned her degree in Nursing Studies from Glasgow Caledonian University, later becoming a lecturer there, where she guided and inspired the next generation of nurses.
Jane’s curiosity, humility, and love of exploration were infectious. A lifelong reader and student of the world, she had a passion for learning—from politics and history to film and travel. (You can probably see where I get it from!) She also had a wonderful sense of humour and loved to laugh, such an invaluable trait when facing the challenges of life.
She saw The Beatles live in her hometown of Leicester in 1966 and watched the historic moon landing in 1969 while on a staff break in the hospital ward. She especially appreciated places of cultural and spiritual significance, from the artistic beauty of Florence to the unique cityscape of Hong Kong and the sacred holy sites of Jerusalem—all places she explored with curiosity and wonder.
In more recent years, Jane and Allan loved traveling across the UK and Ireland in their trusty camper van, Campy, exploring picturesque villages and seaside towns. One of her favourite places was Saltburn-by-the-Sea, a place she loved for its serenity and charm, where she found peace in the gentle rolling of the sea—and simple pleasures in seaside ice cream and fish & chips.
Jane also loved art. This week’s cover image is The Dance Class (1874) by Edgar Degas, part of his famous Ballerinas series. The Dance Class was one of Jane’s favourite paintings—it has hung in our home for as long as I can remember (not the original, I hasten to add!). When we moved Jane into a care home two days before Christmas, we brought this painting with us so she would have that comfort in her final weeks. I like to think she enjoyed the beauty and movement of the ballerinas, as well as recognising the perseverance and unseen strength behind every graceful moment. Perhaps that’s life right there.
Even in the face of her Alzheimer’s diagnosis, Jane displayed remarkable courage and dignity. Her ability to continue to put others first, guided by her strong values and deep love for her family, continues to inspire all those around her. She did not fear death—she spoke of it openly, seeing it simply as the next step in life’s cycle, a reflection of its beautiful impermanence. A reminder to cherish each day, each moment.
Her essence remains forever a part of all those she touched.
She is now luminous, timeless, eternal. Her light burns bright.
That is her gift to us.
