Sitting at the dining table, I tucked into my delicious Irish fry-up.
A signature dish made by my mum Bernadine, then 68 – her cooking was a family affair.
‘This is delicious,’ I grinned.
Living just two minutes away, me, my husband Robert, now 61, and my sons David, 28, and Stephen, 25, always visited for dinner, especially Sunday roasts, when Mum and I took turns making the roast beef.
We were a well-fed family, savouring Mum’s Jalfrezi curry and garlic prawns.
So when I noticed Mum had started losing weight in 2020, I knew something was off.
Visiting her five days a week, her eating habits had changed.
Putting a plate of food in front of her, she would only pick at it.
‘Mum, you need to eat,’ I said. ‘You’ve lost weight and you’ll never put it back on, else.’
She’d lost
