On Friday 5th Feb, my Auntie Pam died. Suddenly. Even though she was 84 years and 9 months and 12 days old, that didn’t make it any less of a shock. I will do a longer blog about her when I’ve gathered a few more thoughts. Let’s just say for now though that she was funny, and huggy, and our family historian and memory bank, and hugely interested in what everyone was doing. In short, she was a brilliant aunt, and sister and mum, and we shall miss her. Lots.
In what is either a strange coincidence, or, my personal favourite theory, proof that family gatherings continue in death as in life, she died on the eve of the 5th anniversary of my Auntie Jack’s death. I like to think they both had a good catch up yesterday. She too was a brilliant aunt, sister and mum – in my head I still find it difficult to distinguish her from Julie Andrews – a mix of Mary Poppins and Maria. That may be though because she was my go to aunt for trips to the cinema and swimming.
She, in turn, died on the eve of the anniversary of Rosie’s first major operation. That was 8 years ago today. So between them they’ve managed to seriously muck up February. And yet, and yet, managed to coordinate it all over a weekend. Not that it will always be a weekend, but it’ll always be three days in a row. Which is kind of helpful too.