Today would have been my Auntie Net's Birthday, so I thought I'd share a few words here. In my younger years, my Auntie Net always fell second in my attention's line to my Uncle John. My Uncle John was my-everything when I was a kid, as Uncle's often are, and I spent a lot of time with him and by association with my Auntie Net. I would be spoilt at their house as a kid, but not overly-so (to the point where I was able to get away with what I wanted) and this relationship or atmosphere eant that it was somewhere I really enjoyed being, and somewhere I enjoyed staying as it kept me grounded. Living so close my Gran, whose house I spent pretty much every weekend at from ages 10-16, meant that I saw my Auntie and Uncle very regularly. I was kept in check quite often in my teenager years by them both, but equally was fed all the scotch-sausage I wanted, all the Lucozade (in cans) and quite a lot of Irn Bru too. I was mischievous in my juggling of the freedom of my Gran's, where I did everything myself (except make the big-tea) and the solidity and safety of my Auntie and Uncle's where I would be waited on hand and foot, but unable to get away with my murder. It was the perfect balance as a teenager. I even ‘ran away’ there for a few weeks! When my Uncle John passed away, I was distraught beyond anything I had ever felt in my life at that time. It was as if my life structure had been flipped upside down. That entire period where we knew he was ill and was dying was one of the strangest experiences of my life and it is the period about which I feel the most shame about my actions. Until that time I hadn’t thought about Death or loss and it was the greatest kick in the gut I have ever experienced. One of the clearest memories I have of me and my Uncle John, and also of my Auntie Net, was when he had returned home for his end of life care which my Mum oversaw (with such dedication while faced with such impending heartbreak that I’m baffled by her ability to remain so calm and controlled). I walked into his room one weekend and I saw his weathered face, his pale skin and his gaunt physique and I crumbled; I crumbled in the face of this once-giant who had been turned to bones. On every visit after that, I would lie outside his room on the carpet and talk to him from outside, while my Auntie was in the room looking at me and smiling. I would laugh and cry outside that room but I would not go inside. I never saw my Uncle again. As I grew older, I looked back on this as absolute and pure cowardice. I hated myself for it and would tell my friends about this when they'd ask what my biggest regret was. I never spoke to my family about it, especially not my Auntie. As I honestly felt like I had let him down to such a degree that was unforgivable. I appreciate that this post seems to be more about my Uncle John and me than my Auntie, but this is where that changes. Throughout my later teens and into my middle twenties, the amount of times I saw my Auntie dramatically decreased, as is life I suppose, but we'd see each other at family events, or I'd pop down to see her when I was visiting friends. It wasn't as much as I would have liked, but I always felt such a strong bond with her even though we didn't speak a lot during those years. These years were incredibly testing for me, and my family, as my Mum’s illness had grown much worse and the impact on day to day life was such that sometimes it became unbearable. I think my Auntie knew that, so she would call me relatively regularly as she knew I was at home ‘dealing’ with the experiences, but I also think she knew she could get a grounded summary from me about how things were, that perhaps she couldn’t get from my Dad or my Brother. I welcomed those calls during that period, and even though we would often disagree about what was best and what needed to happen, and we would get into shouting-arguments over the phone and we'd perhaps not speak for weeks after, we would always return to talking. We would always return to giving each other advice. These calls were the foundation on which our adult relationship was built and are something so incredibly important to me. After listening to people speak at the funeral or at the drinks afterward, it seems this was my Auntie’s defining characteristic; the ability to be firm and fair without discrimination. I enjoy that. Over the last 6 years or so, a lot happened in my Auntie’s life. She received multiple life changing diagnosis, and received similarly life changing procedures. She went through the loss of her Mum and the strain of dealing with the rapidly changing health of family and loved ones. This had such an external strain on her, but similarly must have had such an internal one too. These are not events to be sniffed at. My Auntie’s final years were incredibly difficult, but throughout it all she remained positive; a loving mother, grandmother, sister and friend. I can only imagine the strength needed to do that. During these years we would still talk, but perhaps not as much as would both have liked. I would call her the night before a surgery and/or the day after to see how she was and we would talk about snippets of shit of no real worth, we’d laugh and sometimes cry. She had this natural approach to conversations which meant that no matter how shit things were for her, she would always ask or discuss what was going on with you. I enjoyed that, but was also frustrated by it because I would call her to speak to her about her health and how she was doing, or if she needed anything, and she would rather discuss how a late 20s/early 30s relatively physically fit person was. I felt somewhat embarrassed to tell her of my problems when I knew the position she was in. But I LOVED those calls, I loved discussing pointless shit with my Auntie and laughing about nothing, but I also loved discussing serious subjects with her; my mum, their health, my nephews and niece, the past and the future. On 23 August 2019, I called my Auntie Net while walking to work in the morning. This is an important date, as it’s the anniversary of my Uncle John’s death. I wanted to check in with her and see how she was doing, and just generally have a good laugh while walking to work. I’m not entirely sure how we ended up on the subject, but we talked about his final weeks at home. I think perhaps we ended up discussing my Mum and had briefly touched on her nursing him. You’ll remember a little earlier, I mentioned that I felt no pride at my actions during his final weeks, so this isn’t an easy thing for me to be discussing with my Auntie, but I figured as a 32 year old man I was able to open up with her about it. I discussed the memory with her and told her how much of a coward I believe myself to be because of my actions and how I’ll never forgive myself for not allowing myself to see my Uncle again or letting him see me. How I’d carried it in my mind for so many years and how it still made me physically upset when I thought about it. She laughed and I remember being a little shocked that she’d laugh. But she laughed and told me that she remembers the memory well but that she remembers the specifics and implications differently. She told me I was a young boy who hadn’t at that time faced loss, and that I was scared and it was natural to feel scared. She told me that he loved me so much and was so proud that I came to visit him in his last days and that he didn’t care one bit whether I needed to stay outside or not; just so long that I was there to speak to him. She told me he’d be so proud of who I was today and what I had done. I started crying perhaps more than I have done in my life. Here I was, 32 years old, walking to work down a busy road in Manchester at about 7am literally crying my eyes out listening to my Auntie say those words to me. I must have looked a sight. But the tears weren’t just tears; they were the weight of that burden I’d placed on myself being lifted. I regretted having not spoken to my Auntie about it before, but was so happy to have heard her say those words. I’ve written too many words here, and I had so much more to say, but I think that’s a good place to leave it. I’m going to miss those phone calls for the rest of my life. I’m going to miss her calling me to thank her for her Christmas Present that she knew full well my Mum had given me the inspiration for (Like I know what Molton Brown is!), I’m going to miss her sharp tongue and her loving words. I’m going to miss that unique relationship we’d built up where we rarely saw each other in person but we’re still able to have such meaningful discussions and exchanges. Ultimately though I’m going to miss the support my Auntie gave my Mum. She’s going to be forever missed.