I honour, pay respect to, express love for and remember my darling Nanna. She was a colourful woman who lived a colourful life, from 21 February 1926 until day's end, 1 August 2024. We farewelled her at a beautiful funeral on Monday. There were tears, laughter, stories and dancing. Evelyn Jean Conley—known as Jean—was a daughter to Violet Frost and Donald Campbell. She was a beloved sister, niece, wife to three lucky husbands, mother to four, nanna to 10, great-nanna to eight, beloved aunty and friend to many, particularly through Scrabble, cards and mahjong. She was a wonderfully quirky, unique and high‑spirited woman.

Two weeks ago when I was scheduled to tour the Blue Mountains Hospital with Minister Park, I was instead called to the bedside of my dear Nanna who fell and sustained terrible injuries. I found myself instead at Batemans Bay District Hospital. I express my gratitude to the fantastic Batemans Bay hospital team who cared for Nanna in her last week, particularly Dr Jude and Dr David, and Asish, Allie and Janet, nurses who went above and beyond. My Nanna was humble yet proud of her long and incredible life, her independence, her garden and plentiful indoor plants but, most significantly, her family. She also talked of the mantra she tried to live by for her 98 years: For a good life, you need to be healthy, happy, handy and helpful. I would add something we often discussed: Keep walking for as long as you can, be patient and positive, and spend time in the garden. As I grieve her loss and my heart aches with love and sorrow, she would want me, and everyone, to take something of her advice for longevity.

I thank my second cousin Jennifer, who was Nanna's special niece, and great-granddaughter-in-law Mel for their solid love and considerable important practical administrative care, which Nanna needed in her final years. I offer my sincere gratitude to Judith, Lesley and the brilliant My Aged Care team, her daily carers, for ensuring that Nanna benefited from the dignity she deserved as she became aged and frail and required support. I also thank the incredible paramedics throughout the district who would visit her often and considered her their special patient.

After almost 100 years of truly living, Nanna looked forward to her last and enduring sleep. My darling Nanna would often say in the last few years of her life, "Trisha, I think I'm getting old." I would reply, "You reckon?" and we would both laugh together. I loved her laugh. Nanna was the sunshine and the light, the joy and the laughter, the grounding of my feet on this earth, the fun and games and movement of life, the wisdom and humility, the generosity of spirit, and the essence of love that binds. We had some raw and honest conversations during some of her anxiety-ridden days and nights about her life, her death and her wishes. I am heartened to know that she reached out to many of us during those days and nights via text messages, phone calls and FaceTime.

I mention a couple of my memories of Nanna. They are a mix of my 55 years in her remarkable 98 years. I remember visiting her at her work when I was a small girl and playing secretary and boss in an office with Lindy‑Lou, my little sister. As little girls, we were mesmerised by this side of Nanna. Through some harrowing childhood times, our happy escapes to be with Nanna showed us a different world with a smart woman well ahead of her time. I remember walking and riding bicycles, watering the garden, and writing letters to her as a little girl and then as a teenager and a young woman travelling. Nanna was my safe place, and I could share my heart, my dreams and my worries. She kept all of those letters and cards and gave me that bundle a few years back—a love story diary of my Nanna and her Trisha. I remember meeting with some of the Batemans Bay firefighters, police and paramedics who supported her during the Black Summer bushfires to say thank you. They were amazed by her resilience at the tender age of 94.

Nanna was my rock and my anchor in life, and I will be forever grateful for our connection. I could talk about her for days on end. I will mention the story of her last meal. She was high on morphine but she was bright and lucid, despite her traumatic injuries, sitting up in her hospital bed, and she leans in and says, "I wouldn't mind some oysters mornay and bubbles, Trisha." The next day, I brought her just that. It was a great privilege to be holding my Nanna's hand in her last days and when she took her final breath. Vale, Nanna, here is the sleep you craved. I am imagining that somewhere beyond this place, beyond this world, the garden is lush, she's enjoying a glass of riesling, the birdsong and the colours of a magnificent rainbow, and at peace.