Sharon Holloway (19 May 1959 - 1 Jun 2025)

In loving memory of Sharon Holloway
who sadly passed away on Sunday 1st June 2025
Aged 66 years
She will be deeply missed by her partner Stephen, son Gareth, family and friends.
Flowers may be sent to John Weir Funeral Directors
127, Watling Street, Gillingham by 10.00am on the day
Donations in Sharon's memory for either
Great Ormond Street Hospital Children's Charity' 'The British Heart Foundation'
or ' Kings College Hospital Charity' ( Critical Care) may be made via this online tribute page

what can I tell you about my mum?
Well, she was always there with the right words to say or a shoulder to cry on, which unfortunately made this whole process all the more difficult, as the one person I would normally have turned to wasn’t there. She was a board game hound who absolutely loved them and was a stickler for the answers on the card. Even when they weren't right, on one such occasion we were having an argument over a board game—probably because She wasn’t allowing my correct answer again—and she told me to take a short walk off a long pier. We laughed so hard that we completely forgot what we were arguing about. She was a bedtime story reader, always putting on silly voices for the characters. She was a silly song singer, making you laugh when you were sad. She was a font of knowledge, not all of it useful, but no matter the person, place, subject, or time, she would know something or have a tidbit to share. She loved quiz shows and could pull answers from nowhere. I would often watch in awe as she started listing off random film knowledge or players from obscure sports teams. If she didn’t know it, it probably wasn’t worth knowing, and I always felt a little pride when I could answer something she wasn’t able to, no matter how rare that was.
She was a teacher of many things. She taught me to read before I started school. In fact, the school was so impressed that they asked for her help teaching other students in my class who were behind on their reading, which she relished. She taught me how to bake; we made cakes and biscuits of varying kinds, mostly from the giant cooking tomes she kept on the bookshelf. We would look through them, and I would point at a picture, asking, “Can we make that, Mum?” Well, we can try, and try we did. She taught me how to play "Happy Birthday" on the keyboard so I could play it while we sang to my dad on his birthday. She also taught me to swear (sorry, Mum)—not on purpose, mind you, just the odd word in anger, and that was enough for me to pick up.
There's a silly story from my youth: we were in the kitchen, and for whatever reason, I kept swearing. She told me if I didn’t stop, she was going to put soap in my mouth. Well, me being me, I continued, and she used the first thing that came to hand—a bottle of fairy liquid. Unfortunately for her, I was too quick; I knocked it away as she squeezed, and it went straight in her eye. One trip to the hospital later, and she had an eye patch for two weeks! She looked like a pirate! Every day, we had to go back to the hospital to flush her eye out. After two weeks, they finally removed the patch, and her iris was fairy liquid green. Now she looked like a witch. I did feel terrible, but I can laugh about it now. She never tried that again, I can tell you.
She was an animal lover, whether that meant visiting them at the various zoos and aquariums we went to or at home. We had a menagerie—from guinea pigs to fish to gerbils or hamsters; we had them all. We had cats, starting with two brothers, and then we rehomed a third, found as a kitten by our neighbor in her shed down the road. We also had budgies and finches. She had a penchant for giving the pets funny TV names: there was a guinea pig called Jasper, presumably because he loved carrots; our first two cats were Bill and Ben; and then there were the budgies, Rosie and Jim.
She loved the seaside—Blackpool, Margate; it didn’t really matter to her as long as there were fish, chips and arcades with plenty of good loot in the 2p machines. Those trips made her so happy. We went on many jaunts to different seaside towns, and she loved them all.
She also had a passion for good detective shows—NCIS, Death in Paradise, FBI, The Rookie, to name just a few. If there was a show where someone committed a crime and she could piece together what happened, she was set for an hour of enjoyment. She loved crossword and puzzle books, the harder the better. “Anything to keep those little grey cells going,” she would say. She adored old comedies like "Only Fools and Horses," "Open All Hours," "Are You Being Served?" and "Allo Allo." If she wasn’t pushing her brain to its limits or laughing like a lunatic, she wasn’t enjoying life and growing old disgracefully, as I’m sure she would have put it.
Her love for Elvis Presley was another significant part of her life. I took her to exhibitions featuring his possessions and shows with impersonators. She loved it all. I could go on for hours about her love for Elvis and the things she saw, did, or bought with his likeness attached. I won't, but I could.
She also loved the theatre and was lucky enough to see several shows in the West End throughout her lifetime. I once took her to see "Jersey Boys," and I managed to get a box for us. The view was amazing, and she loved every minute of it.
Most importantly, she loved her family. All of you here, she loved you so much. She was always the first to fight our corner or sing our praises, and she was probably the first to tell me if I made a tit of myself too.
But most of all, she was my mum. I loved her more than she ever knew, and I will miss her each and every day. Mum, thank you for making me the man I am today.