RIP Auntie Kath
Sunday 19 April 2020, 3pm
I've been holding off on this for a little. It was too upsetting when the news came through that Antie Kath had died of Covid-19 after a decline in a care home where she had been resident for a while. Auntie Kath was my wife's aunt, but herself and her husband Uncle John were the backbone of the Leicester-based family as long as I've known them. I joined the family about 30 years ago and both John and Kath were so welcoming. I felt immediately safe with them when we visited and felt also as if I'd known them for years. The generosity and hospitality were amazing. Auntie Kath kept on slipping chocolate bars into my pockets as if I was ten years old. And I noticed that I always got an extra big lunch or dinner. One look at me and she could tell that I would need a big bowl. She wasn't wrong. And in the morning, it was just assumed (correctly) that I would eat a couple of bacon rolls at least. On one of the earliest occasions (before our daughter Marianne was born so it must have been 1987) she bundled us into her car and we drove off to visit her mum who was then in her 90s.
This remarkable woman was spry as you like. Now living in a flat alone, she had in her time produced 13 children and looked after herself with great independence. She was in high spirits. Optimism exuded from her, and she told us with amusement about an incident that had only happened a week or so ago. She had a pet parakeet. Every afternoon, she would open the cage, and the parakeet would zoom around the flat, roost for a moment on the back of a sofa, and fly a bit more, climb up a curtain with beak and claw and zip around for another lap. After half and hour or so, she would shoo the parakeet back towards its cage, and it would fly up into it, another day's exercise complete.
On this occasion, when the bird was doing its calisthenics, she just got on with her cleaning. Idly she polished, cleaned, tidied and hoovered around the place. But suddenly there was a 'whoomp' and a choking sound. Looking around for the bird, she realised she had inadvertently hoovered up the parakeet. The possible sadness of this story was completely lost amid the hoots of laughter that she led. Up went her legs and out came her big laugh, her red face convulsed in mirth.
There were strong elements of her mother in Auntie Kath. Laughter was never very far away. Active around the home, a pot of tomato gravy ever on the hob, and pasta cooked the way it should be with laughter and love. She was very loving to Marianne, our daughter, and the chocolate was slipped more into her pocket and less into mine. Nothing needed to be said, and Marianne grew to love her too.
It's a different world without Uncle John and Auntie Kath, and I'm not sure it's a better one.
I've been holding off on this for a little. It was too upsetting when the news came through that Antie Kath had died of Covid-19 after a decline in a care home where she had been resident for a while. Auntie Kath was my wife's aunt, but herself and her husband Uncle John were the backbone of the Leicester-based family as long as I've known them. I joined the family about 30 years ago and both John and Kath were so welcoming. I felt immediately safe with them when we visited and felt also as if I'd known them for years. The generosity and hospitality were amazing. Auntie Kath kept on slipping chocolate bars into my pockets as if I was ten years old. And I noticed that I always got an extra big lunch or dinner. One look at me and she could tell that I would need a big bowl. She wasn't wrong. And in the morning, it was just assumed (correctly) that I would eat a couple of bacon rolls at least. On one of the earliest occasions (before our daughter Marianne was born so it must have been 1987) she bundled us into her car and we drove off to visit her mum who was then in her 90s.
This remarkable woman was spry as you like. Now living in a flat alone, she had in her time produced 13 children and looked after herself with great independence. She was in high spirits. Optimism exuded from her, and she told us with amusement about an incident that had only happened a week or so ago. She had a pet parakeet. Every afternoon, she would open the cage, and the parakeet would zoom around the flat, roost for a moment on the back of a sofa, and fly a bit more, climb up a curtain with beak and claw and zip around for another lap. After half and hour or so, she would shoo the parakeet back towards its cage, and it would fly up into it, another day's exercise complete.
On this occasion, when the bird was doing its calisthenics, she just got on with her cleaning. Idly she polished, cleaned, tidied and hoovered around the place. But suddenly there was a 'whoomp' and a choking sound. Looking around for the bird, she realised she had inadvertently hoovered up the parakeet. The possible sadness of this story was completely lost amid the hoots of laughter that she led. Up went her legs and out came her big laugh, her red face convulsed in mirth.
There were strong elements of her mother in Auntie Kath. Laughter was never very far away. Active around the home, a pot of tomato gravy ever on the hob, and pasta cooked the way it should be with laughter and love. She was very loving to Marianne, our daughter, and the chocolate was slipped more into her pocket and less into mine. Nothing needed to be said, and Marianne grew to love her too.
It's a different world without Uncle John and Auntie Kath, and I'm not sure it's a better one.
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