After my mum died, I couldn’t face tackling the clothes she left behind. But wearing them has helped me celebrate the woman she was

Abigail Radnor wears a Betty Barclay jacket she inherited from her late mother Rhona. Photograph: Jon Shard/The Guardian

Only my mum would insist on buying a designer swimsuit on her deathbed. She had always found emotional solace in clothes, but shopping for herself had become futile by that point. She was, after all, lying in a cancer hospital having been told there was no further treatment available for her relentless myeloma; she had exhausted all available options in the 11 years since her diagnosis. But my 37th birthday was coming up and there was no way terminal blood cancer was going to stop Rhona from buying me a present. She loved showering her family with gifts. I would reprimand her for spoiling us. “I can’t spend it when I’m dead, can I?” she used to respond.

Of course, there was only one thing I truly wanted that birthday, but I was being forced to come to terms with that being a deluded fantasy. Despite my protestations that I needed nothing, my mum insisted: “Something nice for your holidays, perhaps?”