The lost boys.

My Dad and his brother said goodbye to their second mother today; their (and everyone's) Auntie Edna.

When she was fourteen she helped her sister bring up her new baby (my dad) because his dad went off to war for six years. Then at fifteen she went to work int' mill and also help her mum look after her other sister Nancy's illegitimate war baby, (whilst continuing to pop round the corner for my dad, and a bit later his baby brother as well).

Then Nancy lost her leg in a motorbike accident so Edna added that to her list of care duties. The list goes on, my dad's mum getting MS and needing care and later nursing her husband with alzheimers.

I'm not saying she was the only person in the world to have responsibility thrust upon her at an early age or to act selflessly; I'm using it as a background to tell you about the boundless joy this tiny little woman brought to everybody's lives. Always laughing or singing or being mischievous, but not in a tears-of-a-clown kind of way. Regardless of the circumstances.

No; it was a genuine happiness and pleasure at being alive. When things went wrong she'd just say,"oh well, never mind".

As I get a little bit closer to ordering my final taxi I think about legacy and the point of it all, and I think Auntie Edna's goodness and contentment and spirit are, on a micro level, the equal of great art and invention.

If I can be a hundredth of the person she was then her time wasn't wasted. Well it obviously wasn't anyway!

See clarebeme's blip for more and a pic of Our Edna.