Aunty Con.

I was born in Cardiff in 1951. At 5 years old I was taken from my mother, to live in a Dr. Barnardo’s Childrens’ Home in Cardiff. Later, aged 9, I was transferred to a Home in Aberdare, where I lived until I was 16. However while in Cardiff (just prior to Christmas 1957) a family came to the Home with an offer to help one of the waifs; for some reason, they chose me. From that time they allowed me to visit their home and become a part of their family… I spent part of almost every school holiday with them. They were short sharp exclamation marks in a crazy, mixed up alphabet of a life. Their commitment to me was extraordinary given more than once I failed to show the gratitude they were due. Uncle Charles passed away in 2011 and Aunty Con became increasingly dependent, I spent much of my time visiting and taking out my dear Aunty Con. At the age of 100 she agreed that to take a place in Dan-y-Graig Nursing Home was the safest and most rational decision to take and I visited here there once or twice a week, often taking her out for lunch to her favourite eateries. Following a short period of great frailty, on November 27th 2019, at the grand age of 102years and 8 months Aunty Con passed peacefully to spend eternity back with uncle Charles whom she missed so very deeply yet managed life without him so bravely. Aunty Con did nothing but shine light. hope and joy into my life and the lives of my children and family. I wrote this piece for her when she was 98.

AUNTY CON.
Aunty Con pitter-patters about,
filling her days with charitable work.
Her selfless nature standing firm
behind eyes brimful of loss and wisdom.

Her kindly smiles and sage advice aver
over and over, that I must love God
and take deep breaths whenever I might lose my temper.

When Uncle was busy fixing and making
Aunty would be making sure tomorrow
stayed intact and yesterday wasn’t breaking.

She used to hug this lost little boy
and I would bury my sniffly nose into
the softness of her folds;
oh, those too brief moments of feelings I loved most.
Even now the aroma of lavender and lily;
and the smell of baked beans on toast
evokes eternity.

At bedtime, stories tippy-tapped from her lips
which, when she gave me a goodnight kiss,
seemed to taste of rice pudding and nutmeg.

She taught me to see where
selfishness and dishonesty
scour the textures of this world
til they wear so thin,
I must take care not to rip them
and let emptiness in. x