At 11am today a funeral service was held 500 miles north from Maidenhead for my Aunty Jan. To my great disappointment, the Covid19 epidemic and social distancing measures, mean my participation is not possible. So, at 11am I sat for about 30 minutes, contemplating the memory of a truly great and inspirational person, who had not been well for some time, and had found communication difficult. I’d called the care home a couple of weeks earlier to hear she was in reasonable health and would try to get back to my message as soon as she could. A few days later, she got worse and last week I received the sad news that she’d passed away.

Perhaps I feel a sense of guilt at not having visited more often, and knowing she maintained a soft spot for me all the same, never mentioning the disappointment of my absence, always delighted to hear what I’d been up to since last we met. Indeed, for much of my childhood, she was a rock of support for my mother and siblings, always there, a positive entity, seeing the good in people, regardless of their discretion. “Everyone has a soul and deserves our empathy.” she would often say, appealing to our sense of decency to see reinforce her point. I used to wonder if she was naive, but the older I get, the more I see how strong and resilient her spirit was to keep her positive outlook and empathy for her transgressors. In fact, through her I found a great example of a more purposeful way of living; compassionate, kind, and truly empathetic.  

Perhaps it’s an example of her humility, but I knew little about her past. All I really knew was she met my Uncle in the late 1960s in Edinburgh, while at nursing college. This was her only other known profession, other than the church. Once married to my uncle, she accompanied him around Scotland as a faithful servant to the church and the highly demanding role of Minister’s wife. They say ‘behind every great minister, is an even greater minister’s wife.’ Wherever the Church of Scotland saw fit to send my Uncle, she dutifully supported his efforts to successfully reach out to the local parishioners and build lasting relationships in the local community. For thirty years she graciously organised successful fund-raising raffles, coffee mornings, bring and buy sales, food collections and many other charitable events. Always smiling, always caring and always there for anyone who needed her assistance, Aunty Jan was a reliable member of the community she served. This is why the funeral is over-subscribed and a place already prepared for her in the medieval Brechin cathedral grounds.

She never complained; a quiet rock of support for my Uncle as he preached, supported and consoled those who reached out for help, day or night to visit them at the manse, form wealthy to starving, sharing their faith, love and capacity to listen without judgement of character. Aunty Jan’s little rusty blue Fiesta was a unique sight, as she slowly drove Uncle Morris everywhere, usually with the brick-a-brack from another church event she was in the throws of organising. Her car was a regular sight, welcomed up many a drive-way and was a common sight for all who knew her. She knew personal suffering, having the heart-ache of miscarriages, yet she transferred her paternal love to myself and my siblings, and round the manse we would find a great place to run-a-muck when younger, knocking over this and breaking that in our excitement.

Sad to admit, the last time I visited was ten years earlier, a few years after Uncle Morris had sadly passed away. She had always had a couple of cats, but the first thing I noticed on the last visit was the house was full of them, even she wasn’t sure how many she had by then. She was pleased and surprised by my visit, often turning to an imaginary Uncle Morris to talk say, “Did you hear that Morris?” And after a moment or two, she’d then add, “See, he’s proud of you.” I indulged, reckoning it was a mark of the close bond they had. When I walked round the house, I found a number of structural concerns and the bathroom was flooded, because a drip in the tap had not been fixed for years. In fact, I was concerned she was unable to take care of herself or the cats, as by then the front garden had become a dumping point and eye-sore to the complaining neighbours.

I did promise to go back, but when I visited someone else a few years later, not far away, I settled for a phone call, and we had a nice long chat on the phone that could have been made down south. The truth is I decided not to visit, a little ashamed of the state of her house and what my friend might think of her. For this and the other times I fell short of her compassionate example, I am sorry and regret not showing more understanding. I told her I believed in God, when I didn’t, yet here I am, now a believer. Now, I see her as a prime example of a genuinely honest and empathetic person I now reference in my mind, whenever challenged to show integrity and honesty in the face of adversity myself.  

If there was a blot on my memory of her, and it is as small blot, it would have to be the coconut chocolate balls she would make and attempt to give away at most events. She would roll up balls of coconut shavings then place them in a bowl of 100% cocoa. There was no sugar involved in the organic process and would sell well in a health shop today, but as a child with a sweet tooth, I had no interest. My disdain was shared by my siblings and anyone else who was unfortunate enough to try one out of politeness, yet no one seemed to tell her. Or, perhaps she was belligerently forcing them on us; her only act of stubbornness. But I doubt it. No, we just never said how much we disliked them and often used them as missiles to be projected at each other when we got home, having taken them, at our mother’s compassionate request.

So, thank you Aunty Jan, for the years of support, kindness, forgiveness and the great example you now represent for the rest of my life.

God bless.