All-encompassing hugs from my two ladies. Their weight I admired – me, the mathematician, the calorie wizard, the difficult guest at a dinner party and in general. Their joy and sometimes crankiness in life. The absolute void in their death. The void in my living. Rubbed out parts of the world as to walk around years on is to try to accept the forever change. Their weight, my stress was their love of cooking: jam and jollof. And every part was love. Her laugh was one loud ‘Ha!’ and smiles; her squeeze was to be reassured. You mattered. And her’s – The Big Love’s – were strong, as though to give me more than just my name. The final one was still warm. Gone, but I’d never be hugged again and my last memory is the one I took, knowing it was meant for me.