Last night my mother passed away.

She was 84. And she’d been bedridden with dementia for years. She’d declined ever since had a mini stroke at 71, which in itself was flabbergasting, because nobody took greater care of herself than my mother. She exercised; she hardly drank; she took a shelf-full of “supplements” at breakfast. And when she went on vacation she brought All-Bran cereal with her, which both amused and irritated the heck out of my twin sisters and me.

Yes, she was healthy, but we suspected that vanity was the chief propulsion behind all this. She had good reason to be vain. Our mother was extraordinarily beautiful; when she entered a room, people stopped talking and stared. We even stopped talking and stared. I remember thinking one night as I watched her lacquer her hair, and spritz her perfume, that no matter how hard I tried in life – and I am a trier – I would never be able to physically compete with my mother.

Read the rest of my tribute on Vicky Ward Investigates.