Some of my memories of Aunty. She made Fred and Freda for me but I'm not sure why Freda's skirt is so short. The recipe is for beef and pasta bake. Photo / Judith Lacy
Some of my memories of Aunty. She made Fred and Freda for me but I'm not sure why Freda's skirt is so short. The recipe is for beef and pasta bake. Photo / Judith Lacy
Comment:
I'm the same age as my favourite aunt was when she died. It's a sobering, sad, scary thought.
She had breast cancer that spread to her spine. She died at Arohanui Hospice and when I went there a few weeks ago for an interview, it all came back tome. That Easter Monday when she wanted to tell me something. Aunty could barely speak and I struggled to understand what she was saying. I think it was "Thank you for being so good", but I'll never know.
She left behind a husband, a son and a daughter. And two sisters. Her own mother had died only three years earlier.
Aunty was only 15 years older than me and as she didn't have her first child until I was 13, I guess I was her practice. I certainly lapped up her time and the cool presents she gave me.
Aunty was also my godmother and I've got a photo of her holding me after my baptism. I'm screaming my head off but she's looking at me adoringly.
Here I am at 5 weeks old screaming my head off as Aunty holds me after my baptism.
Aunty taught me how to knit; I think she got the job as she was deemed to have the most patience. She was an amazing knitter and would sell her garments at a wool shop in Palmerston North.
Aunty met her husband when he worked for Mum and Dad. When they came to announce they were engaged I marched out with dress patterns and they didn't really have any choice but to have me as their flower girl.
Their wedding was the day before my birthday and I made sure the extended family knew. I scored so much money that night I was able to buy a magic set and a purse.
After the wedding Aunty wrote to me and my brother to thank us for the wedding gift of a beater (surely, that was my mother's idea). "It is really great as I now can make cheesecakes and pavs," she wrote.
I was always fascinated by the furniture and appliances in her house as they were more modern than my parents' and grandparents'. The front-loader washing machine was a particular drawcard!
She was a dedicated mother who would drive her son and daughter here, there and everywhere to their activities. Like my own mother, washing those wretched monkey suits worn at the cowshed was a fact of life.
Aunty always put family first and was a caring, generous friend.
When I bought my first house she was there to help me move and she organised her family to paint the corrugated iron fence there.
In some genetic quirk we both have/had a funny mole above one eye. As Dad was recovering from neurosurgery, he asked me to have it checked. The doctor said it was nothing to worry about. I don't like it but it links me to Aunty.
When I was living in Wellington, Aunty had to go to the airport and I said, "I'll help you get there." Of course, I knew where the airport was but as I didn't drive in the capital city I had no idea about motorway on and off-ramps and my directions were shocking. We ended up in Newlands but she took it in her stride.
At 50, I'd like to think I'm only half way through my adult life. There's so much to write, read and explore. But, of course, I don't know that. As we head into winter, my least favourite time of the year, I'm going to try and seize the day more, days that Aunty never got to have.
I'm grateful for the privilege of being in my 50s - nowhere near middle age mind you. It's a privilege Aunty never had.
